I can't trust my own perception of reality anymore. I used to know the difference between dreaming and Dreaming, between illusions in my waking hours, my dreams, and the real world. I don't know anymore, and I'm really sorry.
He sings to us, and we fall in step like a dance troupe made of marionettes, forced to sing the words to a song that kills our friends and make the steps in His sick choreography.
Sometimes I wonder if my life beforehand was the true dream. Going to school, having friends and a family, thinking about the things normal girls think about, like friends and boys and dreams not populated by faceless puppet masters, turning us against each other and watching us tear each other apart. I just dreamed that to escape, to feel happy. I've always been in the mazes, jumping through hoops for the chance to be happy for a while.
i find it kind of sad
the dreams in which I'm dying
are the best i've ever had.