Everything it's low, but that's a word we don't know. Lights on the ceiling are telling me it's time to go.
I'm watching everything the sun's touching - feeling like I'm only brushing through this pulsing surface - resulting useless like a person rushing but without a purpose.
You should know - mine's a difficult burden, concealing it only makes my huffing worsen.
And my thoughts? They are my main concern - I wished enough for something to wash the rusting from them.
Lately I've been feeling nothing. Ruining things and running it's really lovely; I've been looking like I'm living for being lonely. Surely this time I'm feeling the fake feelings being pushed into me.
I'm done dealing with my healing, I won't kneel to anything regarding it, and I have nothing else to say. I'm walking away - to my home. It's time to go.
And now - I'm on my own - again.
I'll remember forever the words you said.

The sweeter the poison is -
the more we like to let ourselves sink in.