A sudden warm feeling washed over me. It was an all too familiar comfort. It embraced my shaking body and anxious heart. My eyes heart a thousand oceans of anger and pain. A euphoric high lulled me to sleep as the dots of red connected in perfect yet clumpsy symmetry.
My escape. My cure. It has never left my side. It whispers dirty nothings to me and I violently drink it with a desperate heart. Perhaps if I hold my breath a little longer and steadies my shaky knees a little longer, then perhaps, just perhaps, death will free me.
Maybe if I cry a little softer, and bruise a little warmer, death will wipe my tears. Maybe if I quiet the storm just a bit more, and soften the chaos, maybe then death will kiss me. Perhaps right now, my hands are too cold and the storm too bold, that perhaps death is sickly grinning at me, laughing at me as the pool of red orchestrates a midnight dance for my shaky hands.
-i felt like death when you left
