Dead Hearts Are Everywhere

I just can't start writing. I keep reading and reading, and still I feel like it's inadequate. There are so many things I want to verify; the possibilities, fallacies, loopholes are endless. Sigh.

I will force myself to put (figurative) pen to paper at the stroke of midnight.

I can say it but you won't believe me.
You say you do but you don't deceive me.
It's hard to know they're out there.
It's hard to know that you still care.

Am I a ghost?

Time's Up