it's a throb, sometimes a beat louder, sometimes a distant tick
I do not know what i'm missing or what is empty but I know
that I feel detached from you, from everyone. When it hits,
I know. That the monster got me tonight. That I lost.
I should probably say sorry, but each day I'm clawing at my skin
to be okay. I picked at my scabs, wound getting deeper, I wonder
whether you could see, that I am still hurting.
I took the way out to make way for you. I hate that. I hate it when
I'm the one cast aside. It's a painful reminder that the red criss cross
that mark my skin are my own pain and my darkness to wallow. For
this is my grave that I dug, and this is where I place our friendship.
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