They get to our minds, they change our thoughts, they kill our feelings.
They come in the middle of the night, in our dreams. They promise to give us what we dream of, they promise to give us love, to make our loved ones happy. They speak to us. They almost live with us, in our thoughts and dreams.
The just lie, without having tongues, they make us hate, without being able to feel themselves. They kill us without having any real body to do it... They kill us through ourselves.
They are dead. Dead paper, that's what they are . Dead trees, changed to something else. Just... things. Things that can kill. But it is said that not the knife kills but the hand that holds it.
Why do we let that happen? Why are we... slaves of things, when things were supposed to serve us? Why do we let ourselves sink, die slowly just of nothing? And, what is worse, we die, but we can't even understand that... We keep... functioning, but we are dead, dead inside... And they go on to the next victim...
They are killing me. And there's nothing I can do...
There's noone there to save me.
They are all dead.
