Place ink upon the paper, to solidify your thoughts. The tears make the color run, and add texture to your hands. There's nothing wrong with hoping but dreams die hard and fast. So place the book upon the table, and believe in what you have. I know you're scared, of the monsters in your room. They're only here for Christmas, and maybe New Years Day. Don't beg them for their mercy, they have no more to give. So burn that wretched tome, it's not really who you are. Compressed thoughts give hope to the notion that life can be placed on a page.