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I've come to realize that desperation is highly unattractive. And it's bleeding into me, seeping under my skin and making me sick.
I'm feeling your pressure weighing down on me, suffocating and generating enough hate now to scald my own lungs.
I don't understand how the venom of realization set in so fast, but I can't even stand to have you within arm's distance for very long anymore.
I would apologize, because this blow won't be coming any slower for you, but then again I would think it's better this way. Besides, it's not like you deserve the cushioning.
