Midnight Nightmares

It starts with a similar tone,
Back against the frame,
I can’t recall the last time I felt alive. 
Only the last time I felt withdrawn.
I remember almost every place the pills took me, but I can’t remember happiness.
Drowning in a foreign language of what you people call love….
I could say I’ve been in love..
But can I? Can I really? 
Can I say I’ve been successful in the acknowledgment of the departed material in a world of living souls lusting after the hearts of their false lovers who are dying from the media’s demanding social status?
Can I? Can you?
Or is this the after math of the ones who are able to merely escape from the deciding factors of stimulating their brain activity to the way the ocean tells them? 
What about the ones who fight back? What about me? 
What about the ones stuck in between?