I feel that I have lived much longer than I was supposed to. The seconds draw their claws on the chalkboard slowly, slowly, slowly... The razorblade separates the skin, the familiar inferno engulfing my body. The familiar deafening heart throb as I lay in the pool of my own emptiness, my regret. The shame of returning to the old habit. I did not count the pills, the tears did not allow sight. But a palmful later, I found myself on the ground, curled up with him. Potential has always been my greatest enemy. I have been running from him my whole life. I've been trying to drown out his screams. It was a good game.