Some people fight for things that run.
Some people lose things that are done,
but I can't help it.
I can't help that there's a voice,
a calling.
Even if I try,
there's always someone
who would rather die.
I'm okay, really,
but weirdly,
I'd rather keep this pain in a frame,
then tell you.
Living in a suicidal box
isn't a top-notch
luxury.
It's when you don't seem to care.
You don't care to dare
the impossible.
Because if you die,
no one can lie.
The mindset of this creature haunts my moments,
never letting go of my wrist.
Some people lose things that are done.
I am that one.