All of my hopes, dreams, wishes, my heart, my soul, my everything. It lies within everything that is nothing but fictional. I take biased in something completely made up by media. My tears are trapped between two yellow colored pages. My dreams are the only place in which I feel secure and happy all the time. Everything else? My hate, anger, fear, hurt feelings, and pain? They lie within reality. They bounce between the buzz of the insults you let roll off your tongue. They stick me in a sense of ambiguity that maybe I can live within my dreams. It won't happen. So put on a dvd or hand me my tore old copy of Teen Angel. Allow me to cry myself to sleep only because the happiness I have lies within pure fiction. I wish I was beyond this world; my heart is too big for that. Nothing can save me from this deep rooted depression. Should I resort back to feeling nothing at all? Or allow my only hope to rest with the fiction my mind has been accustomed to? My pain is in my reality. My freedom is within hallucinations and false stories. I can do nothing but accept that.