Dream-talking

There is a hole in my heart, desperate for something with meanings, or hopes, or refreshing air.
Yet forever emancipation is not within my choices, neither is a temporary release from these foggy time.
So I search for the music that heals, but all these melodies suddenly lose their old magic.
So I wait for the drama that stimulates, but all these plots no longer have lasting effects.
So I hope for the sleep that erases, but all these nerves scream for later night.
Let it be a day.
Let it be two days.
Don't let it ever make three.