There are 2 exits.
3, if you count a 6 story drop.
She accepts it
i just want to stop.

There's a table, some chairs.
Decorated with some sort of dead or dying flower.
Her tracing fingers, my raising hairs.
Rats run in the shower.

i can't find the carpet
she found the bed
with my fate set
to that room i was led.

the seconds ran miles
my mind went too
she called these acts, trials
to lose your youth.

When it was over
your sweat turning stale
you called me your lover
i called you my jail.