These thoughts flood me as i step into the shower. My knuckles are bruised blue and black with traces of yellow. It hurts, but its nothing compared to what I'm feeling.
You could take all this back. If only you would.

"We’ll pull the top down, and reach for the blanketed sky; somehow we’ll taste the crisp air.
The beer will be gone the time the sun will come out. Everything is a spacial blur, but it doesn’t mean we’ll forget it. It’s another story we’ll tell, once we would be drunk with our eyelids, heavy with secrets."

I can't do this anymore. Being the one always swallowing myself. I apologize again and again, but for what fucking reason? To be a fucking substitute.
I'll get over this. I give up. I always do. Get together with someone who knows you better, more.

Go ahead, hate me for all you want.
Because i promised never to hurt you.