When I cross the line, wanting to escape myself, is it strange how you escape me as well? To get out, to taste the air, I have to suffocate you inside, lock you away untill the kicking stops. That's what I did, isn't it? As if the remains are left behind, long buried, stringing myself up for something that happened too long ago, as if this isn't something that is happening right now, you falling, my hands too heavy to catch you as if I know going back for you will kill me. Or at least, make me bleed. Or at least, be unpleasant, right?
©another
A