sunken eye sockets

My reflection speaks through sunken eye sockets and...

i fuckin hate when I can't think of anything to write about so I fake knowing myself, or lie about how much I know you. But I know that I know nothing compared to what I should, and if I would just spend those late nights next to you instead of alone with myself and these pages I would make us both much happier. But this addictions hard to break. What's the cure for getting ecstasy from squeezing the ink from a pen and slowly watching it die as my fingers pale and the muscles in my hand hurt deep down into my heart? My mind forgets the glory of what is written and smiles at the fact that there are words on a page. My pen would scream had it the ability to breathe and there's holes deep into the back of my notebook. I will not stop until my fingers faint and your reflection quits speaking to me through sunken eye sockets.