I’m finally being honest and I’m starting to scare myself. Excuses in good faith, meant in good conscience. An attempt to steer away from the melodramatic. An attempt to paint a level head - with a glint of hope. No, Not a note of a lie. Just buried and obscured. Like the fading haze of someone caught under ice. Bubbling under the surface. Resigned to let the water fill their lungs. Held at bay by the final death throes of a sadomasochistic hero complex thought stomped down long ago. To fester and pool deep inside... The bacteria at the base of my gut. The offal we hide under flesh. I won’t put sugar in the blood. I won’t salt the long rotted flesh. I won’t force you to hold your breath. Swelling, spreading, stinking, rotting. I’ll share if you keep me under glass. Help yourself, just keep me under glass. I’ll share if you keep me under glass. If it’s bitter, it’s bitter. If it’s black, it’s black. I’m sorry that I’ve hid it this long, I’m sorry. I don’t want to feel this another day. I don’t want to be here, but I don’t want to leave. If these were these the last moments I’d waste each one away because There’s nothing left not haunted by ghosts of what was and what won’t be.