Sometimes, you kill me - and more often than I'd like to admit, you succeed. Every time you do, I can feel my soul ebb away until all that's left is this hallow replica of who I used to be. And do you know what hurts the most?
No, not dying. Dying is easy.
It's the mechanical prodding of my senses that wills this body to go on. Everything is numb and life passes you by like a speeding car in choking liquid blurs.
Yet, nonetheless, I love you.
No, not dying. Dying is easy.
It's the mechanical prodding of my senses that wills this body to go on. Everything is numb and life passes you by like a speeding car in choking liquid blurs.
Yet, nonetheless, I love you.
-----------------------------------------
