I'm tired. I'm soaked and weary of everything. I can't let myself be happy without scrutinizing every bit of possibility that maybe, maybe, in this glorified scenario that I am in, is a dark aftermath that is ready to take back the happiness that it has allowed me to bask in. I don't want that. Pretentious it may be but I would rather have all the vipers come at my feet than them slithering on my bed when I'm at my weakest. I'm tired. I'm tired. No matter how many times you kiss me, you touch me, or you ease the unrest off my shoulders, I'd still be the person you're glad you got away from.


















