I’m sitting in an armchair having a panic attack right across from you.
And we don’t talk about it.
What the fuck is a system of support.
Don’t tell me you understand what it means.
She literally set herself on fire in front of you.
And we don’t talk about it.
But she persists in me regardless. I’m sorry, I don’t get a choice there.
This isn’t about me it’s about her.
Tell your own fucking story.
And we don’t talk about it.
We don’t talk about it.
And yet I’m still swallowing blood.

















