Im awake, I shouldent be because I have a meeting with my sychologist in the afternoon. Im sitting in the dark here with my small laptop, in my basement thinking about how a smoke would calm me down. I don't smoke anymore, and as much as you don't beleive that its true. After a nightmare you usually go back to sleep and awake sometime in the morning, you know that its just a nightmare and it wont hurt you, Might even pray if your faith hasent been ripped away from you by your logic favoring parents. So, I look down at my small pale fingers stumble across the keys, searching for an end to each sentance and awaiting the next thought to play out on the stage of letters. The smell of sex comming from down the hall makes me sick, the widescreen TV in the living room flickers as my half awake sister flips the channels looking for a cheap reality show to melt her mind. The sides of my mouth feel as if they have been cut open, I still a feel a cold streak under my eyes as the fan turns my way. My tears stay on my blanket in my room not on my face. Since I was five, I have been dubed "The Tragic Child" by my aunts, uncles and cousins. They say I always look at the bad side of things, never think of the benifits of a abortion or a lie. I may dwell on the negative, but Im just being smart so I don't make a foolish decision to get drunk at a motel bar for three hours of fun. Nothing to do. I figure, its share or explode, and since I don't want to knife people in a back alley, im sharing. A new low for me, the last low ever, Because even the darkest of nights always have a bright morning.