How frustrating it is.
To be unable to tell anyone anything.
To have nobody close enough to confide.
To keep everything to yourself.

Its really awful.
You know.
Really.

Yes, I'm still not be able to sacrifice.
It will just rip my wounded aortic pumps to bits.

Rooftop
We're here again, but different, always, somehow.
Motes of dust ebbs away, everytime. (I think)
It clings to our shoes. A parasite? A dandelion?
Alas, the tiles will be visible, one day.

I'm here again, but different, always, somehow.