whether i'm here or not, people still fuck and they're falling asleep with another on top and if beggars believe "you take what you've got", well now it's stuck in my teeth and starting to rot. you can't propose change whilst keeping your body and bloodstream the same, i'm feeling the constant of guilt in my veins, continuous age, a road to a bed that i'm building with blame but you won't leave anything dying for me to feed on. if i could draw a picture of death i'd imagine he'd look a little like this. i'm barely alive, he's taking his time to position his focus and his hand in mine. where were you when you felt it? where were you last when you felt it? i want to feel like i'm never upset anymore. why settle for something so chemically raw? never going to heal, laying perfectly still on disposable bedding, unstable and ill.
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