burying my head when i can’t lift the hatchet. it’s easier when you’re alone. i’m rusty with words, so forgive me. i haven’t had to fight anyone in so long, i’ve just been punching myself in the face this whole time. i can’t think of what i want to tell you; i close my eyes and listen to the static so my chest stops hurting. my body is giving up. i’m done with myself. all those years throwing people away, now it’s my turn. i’ve lost my touch, apparently. what’s it worth when you feel the same five years later? i don’t know if i’m getting better yet. for a while it felt like i could, but i’m too tired now. i barely do anything and it’s still too much.