Whispers of milky white skin sliding across his lips, soft hair

caressing his shoulder, deep brown eyes burning into his green eyes,

touching, kissing, just a little bit, more.

His dreams are like music, the finest symphony ever produced, and

it's all for him. They are the incoherent ramblings of an angel,

heavenly mirages of pleasure and happiness, perfect and chaotic and

everything he wants. Everything he lost. It's the agony of beauty,

the thrill of pain, the knowing that this is what he doesn't have

anymore, never really had to begin with. They never were his, and now

they belong to each other, to the star-splattered sky, to his dreams

of life that is dead yet somehow more alive than he's felt in a while.

When he closes his eyes, he sees them, straight dark hair mingling

with wavy blonde, slowly caressing each other until the he loses his

mind, dreamy moaning filling his head until his thoughts stop

completely, voices, soft echoes of what he longs to hear, fade in,

fade out, not really here.

He knows, in the dreams, he is aware that it's not real. He realizes

that he's slowly drifting towards insanity, and he can't find the

desire to care. It's all about the two beautiful women that exist now

only in his dreams, and he doesn't want to wake up.

Even in the dreams he can't really have them, can't really touch

them. He reaches out, and grazes Joyce's thigh, soft and smooth under

his fingertips, but all he can do is graze. Any touch more

substantial isn't possible. His tongue barely touches Jenny's nipple,

firm and perfect, but he can't quite get ahold of it. He wants them

and he can't have them. Never, death, life, heaven., hell, forever.

Beautiful hands stroke beautiful flesh, and he wishes it was his

hand, but it's not. Smooth, pink tongues explore the depths of

passion. Ghostly moaning, a ghost of a chance, ghostly pale, vivid

and translucent, he wants.

He awakes as they come, womanly moaning echoes in his ears long after

he is awake. The first images that enter his head when he awakes are

of their dead bodies, lifeless and still so beautiful. Jenny twisted,

her neck . . . her beautiful neck. Joyce . . . the body. Oh, god, he

can't handle this anymore. He reaches for a bottle, but he finds them

all empty. He's empty.