the TWENTY FIRST of JULY, TWO THOUSAND and TWENTY ONE.

instinctively, i crave the catharsis of telling you exactly how you ruined my life, over and over.
it's an encapsulating feeling; a crash of release from pent-up-numbness and fucked-up imbalances,
every snide remark takes a knife out of my own back and stabs one into yours, methodically placed
to maximise my relief and your lack-thereof... weight. i want the guilt to drag you down, down, down.
sink you down to unknown depths, veil you in something so unspeakable that you disappear from my mind
entirely. i want to breathe oxygen again, i want you to breathe only suffocation itself, eternally.
alas i must be a good person, a forgiving girl. i'll wash down the bitterness with vodka.
sobriety has never been my strong point.

take me back!