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sick of always feeling like i'm out of breath, sick of never ever having anything left, sick of being in the red, sick of sleeping in my own bed.
sticking to this feeling of eternal rest, sticking this proboscis deep into my chest, slipping off the path should have went right when I went left.
sick of being sick of being tired of myself, i try but nothing helps, my lungs begin to swell and with that breath i tell myself that I dont need anyone else.
thinking about sinking down beneath your skin, holding your heart in my whole arms grip, pull me apart when you feel your heartbeat skip.
wishing i was missing something that really exists, wishing that your essence was a presence i could kiss, wishing I could stop wishing for what I wanted all the time.
sick of being sticky sick of feeling empty sick of always lying to myself that I can love someone else and my heart begins to swell with the emptiness itself.