He's always sorry when your gone.
Should've been permanent this time.
The marks lighten up on the outside but still phosphorescent and fresh to you and I.
"Things are going to be better this time." you force yourself to say. This wasn't the first time you've had this poison spill past your lips.
Eyes locked and shimmering.
You mutter something like "for the kids." as you leave.
It's spread like a gangrenous rot to them now.
Please be ok.