How can I feel if I can't breathe?
It's dark. And I know it's all inside my own head, but how does that make it any better? Questions, questions, questions. So many questions.
Once upon a time, curiosity killed the gray clay cat. Satisfaction brought her back. But she was never the same...
I don't like making little sense you know. But I'm not wasting words. They bleed. And I am left holding up all our shattered glass.
It's only a problem because it leaves me with no free hands with which I could try to stop all these words. And I can only watch as they escape my mind.
I would tie it all up with ribbons, but I lost them.
All of them.
Maybe it's better this way.
I don't think they were ever mine in the first place.
Because I choose to.