in a thick syrup of repeated mistakes and broken promises.
I'm suffocating and chocking on my professions of love when I'm not even sure that it's the right love.
I'm killing myself. Surely I am killing myself.
Breathing becomes laborious and a hassle.
I cannot continue this way.
Why am I kidding myself into thinking that this love is okay?
I see it for what it is--
a hindrance.
I used to see us groping and gasping as if it were innocent and harmless.
In the back of the forefront of my mind I knew I was wrong.
I was lying to myself.
And even now as I breathe,
with every gasp,
and attempted grasp to hold onto reality
I realize that I'm struggling,
and that I can't do it on my own.
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