Like blood to my lips, a punch in the face and a stab in the stomach, and you still have more? What pain can you put over me that isn’t already killing me? I have no more to give, but still you keep taking. I get nothing in return but the torture of your voice. Why me?
I feel your hand wisp past mine and I enjoy it. I see you turn your head in the opposite direction, no eye contact. Your face in blunt and your smile curved. Sensativity is impossible to proceed and being fearful does not exsist, I hate you.