i fell so low.

I guess it's all for the best.
Taking the long awaited but hardly expected plunge into forever.
I still hate you; quietly, secretly though, and I don't think I'd follow you around
except for the cold fact that I don't have anyone else to be following, and no other reasons to be motivated in my life. We forget and forgive and waste away, a relationship with the devil down under our skin. And I'm realizing how much I wanted someone else, something else, anything else
other than this.

dysentry

slavish and cold, we sink into the fake velor of plush forgiveness.
slipping through the nights and spaces between our gaping holes of sickness
like two splinters of wood, under the skin,
long grown over but not yet numb.
there are no more loopholes to keep us tied up,
no more strings to tie us apart,
now only space is left to listen while faith crumbles.
the world we know, grinding itself to dust.