Cries from the doorstep.

empty apologies and wasted time.

guilty consciences and plenty lies, underneath this dying relationship. how long should i pretend to be invested when i’ve already been broken into a thousand summers of tsunami’s and brush fire’s.

this love feels like hell – walking on pins and needles.

fear of losing the one you love or the fear of being alone because the thought of wiping your own tears and licking your own wounds felt like chronic darkness and depression.

unreciprocated gestures and one-sided expressions.

wars and gunfire.

six-feet below the concrete and a ride to heaven anyday over being here.

why does leaving feel so hard to do? that if maybe if i left a part of me would die.

have i not died already?

a walking corpse, i am.

how did what i used to walk on top of – now sinking underneath it.

need some reviving.

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