We pour our secrets out like spilt coffee splattering upon the pages of life.

We entrust our friends with our deepest darkest secrets.

We breathe in smoke filling our lungs and burning our insides, until we are but a shell of the person we once were...

Until we are nothing but a reminder of the person that said we would never become this...

We would never be hollow inside,

We would never do drugs, or stay out late,

We would never lose our ambitions,

The past is so easy to forget when nothing seems to go right in your life, the dreams we had of going to college , making a future for ourselves, of being somebody, instead of nobody, of living your life to the fullest...

Eventually you just get used to it,

Watching you dreams die in front of you,

Becoming numb to the pain...

You lose you ambitions,

You stay out late, trying the things your teachers told you not to...

You become someone else, the memory of your old self becoming ever distant through the days...

You fall into the world around you, of just being, but not being there...

And this is the truth in being,

But not being there...