To unravel the stitches,

To make myself bleed again.

You were right.

My heart was ripped out, and I can not grow new one again.

It is somewhere, torn apart and weather-worn, and I doubt it will ever work again.

I do not make a habit of playing games, but I refuse to play the ones that you play with me.

I can not believe I let myself fall into my hole again.

I can not believe that I am here again.

I can not believe I want to feel its reflection on my face.

And I can not believe that I will have to pull myself out again.

I have done this dance one too many times, and I do not like the music.

It is time again to embrace apathy.

It is time to content myself with suffering.