You roll over on your side of the bed.

It's 12:07.

Close your eyes. Think of your life.

And then that voice-- the voice that's always in your head, starts to babble once again.

It drones on and on until you hold your head in pain.

And this is all you can hear.

All else has failed, so you begin to cry. It's soft and you must strain your ears to hear, but it's there.

You lift your head and you hear another sound from afar. It's harsh, it's cruel, and of course, it's your own voice.

Sob, sob, sob. THAT'S ALL YOU DO.

You are worthless.

Pitiful. It really is.

But who's going to pity you?

HAH.

No one, you old fool.

So, you shrug and you decide that you live by certain terms. Look strong, be manly, laugh whole heartedly, but yet you STILL allow yourself to cry on the inside.

Sometimes you also act like you're INVINCIBLE.

But then again, you are pretty much unpredictable too.

Sometimes you act like your grandmother could give you a run for your money.

MONEY?!

Yeah. You've got lots of that. The problem is, it's all untouchable.

Too bad.

Well, at least you still have your sanity, right?

WRONG.

STUPID FOOL.

That is exactly what you are.

But wait, who are you again?

Oh yes. I remember that face anywhere. THE Chris Kirkpatrick. You know, the kind of name that deserves to be highlighted on a plain piece of white paper. The kind of name that deserves to be spelled across the sky in big, shining letters. The kind of name that brought a hush to the room.

And then comes the greeting. The kind that brings a rude awakening. The kind that makes you want to white out your name on that piece of paper, the kind that needs to be erased from the sky, the kind that no one pays attention to when someone shouts it clear across the room.

Hello Mr. Popstar, welcome to the REAL world.

We can't wait to get into your brain and break your soul.

You shake the voice away and pour yourself a cup of coffee.

Then you pretend like the voice was never there. Like the voice never existed. Like your life never existed.