(no subject)
Nothing. Nothing at all. The bedroom is the last place I want to be. Sleeping, sleeping in my bed, lay the same old patterns. Calling me by echoes, that still reach when they should have faded. I drift above watching the storyline of my decisions, my decline into revisions as I fall again and again. a constant reminder, of why I'll end up alone; because I was always alone. What’s a home when my bed's the last place I want to be?
Are you sure that you’d never do that again? That the name is forgotten and the abruptness is cured, if it means that much to me? I gave all I had in exchange for the perception of what my actions meant. I need to be ignorant again, because the worst part is seeing that you’re the cause of you’re misery.
Are you sure that you’d never do that again? That the name is forgotten and the abruptness is cured, if it means that much to me? I gave all I had in exchange for the perception of what my actions meant. I need to be ignorant again, because the worst part is seeing that you’re the cause of you’re misery.