Shit... So many times have I hiked on my own blood. And too many times have I sacrificed my time for this... I have strong feelings. Often I let them bleed on the page, but what of the days with anger and writer's block?
I spend several minutes on the punching bag, bloodying my knuckles so you don't see the beast inside longing for resolve. You'll never give it to me, because you can't.
What a mess.
"If you follow me, you will only get lost
If you try to move closer, we'll only loose touch
But you already know too much...
And we're not going anywhere...
TELL ME THAT YOU NEED ME 'CAUSE I LOVE YOU SO MUCH
say you'll never leave me cause I need you so much..."
Oh screw it I'm lost in lyrics, lost in my head once again.
Hell, call me Hysterical. I won't judge.
Can't feed me lies, because I've gotten used to the taste.
How long can I hold my breath before the blood reaches the surface of my skin, huh?
Let's count, shall we?
One. Two late.
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