Collect the head of those who look her way...

[8mm_and_3pieces]

It's that feeling again. Where your chest is so hollow your ribs could crack like paper mache. Your heart is in your stomach and nothing can make it lighter. Where thoughts wander back to that bottle of vodka in your desk drawer, promising to help you sink that heavy heart and raise the dead. It's the times when you're so detached you can literally hold your world in your hands. And when you look down upon it, you can see that everyone has someone and they'll move on when you leave. Because there is no choice now. There never has been. It was meant to be like this. You were meant to be like this. And you'll cup your delicate world in your hands with such care that the Reaper will stop to swoon over your mercy. With one swift impulse, you'll crush it and open your hands. In your palm will lay the mangled remains of what once was. On a selfish whim, you'll rebuild it, again, to fit your needs. People who seemed to have forgotten you or tossed you aside are no longer needed and you let them slip away. And how does this all end? In irony, of course. You watch the old, empty spirit inhabit a new, furnished room. When you see her there alone and surrounded by her daughters, you realize why you haven't died yet. It seems so unfair to cut her in line after she waited so patiently for so long.

i killed kaila