in dreams we meet (and stay asleep)

This tale is sadder than any I've heard before.
Numbers are just a day dream, a fable.
History, it's only a dream for teachers.
On speed dial, a girl who swears
that she is the one for me but I fear
the future; not for us but me and her.
(been told more than once I'm just not here)
So then when we hold hands, guilt I bare.
Every word she says, I try to decipher
the meaning behind her specific tone.
Great use, I get, of my psychology degree
(too bad knowing too much destroys)
just a complete lack of believing in any
sort of feeling- education ruins more
than just optimism for a brighter future.
Scholar's help make hearts break easier.
Now, experience and consequences are
nothing more than cheating whores who were
present even in our primitive-similian era.
I prepare myself for the dreams that will be
arriving in my head when I sleep later
on tonight; trying hard to feel anything other
than completely dead. It would be swell
if she knew the words that could cure my hell-
'cos without a promise of some kind of high
it's damn near impossible to start my day
under way; however when she calls, I'm okay.
I know then I'm better than ever before.
Only truth we got to look forward to
is memories; they be the only thing we may
(truly one day behold and treasure)
own without purchasing through a commercial.
Those thirty second pitches of pure torture.
I'm thirsty for some sort of fortune I didn't hear
being pitched to me from a corner store.
Baby, baby, please just put up a daft ear
when you ear my misery start to ramble
out of me- this discontent is relentlessly terrible.
However, if we get through this fortnight's turmoil
(than we can get through it all)
we can work on the impossible, the repair
for my broken heart- that machine that here
and there still beats with hope for our future.