Because I never liked being alive until last year. In the midst of a plague I found happiness though. Sure I was spiralling like everyone else. Fear was in the streets and it ran free. But terror is a wonderful motivator. My hands knew what to do with it. They killed the person I used to be.
Head on a pillow and clothes on the floor I sweat and shiver, something is wrong. I want someone to call, to come save me, but the woman who used to won’t and the one that will is too far away. This is my future, drool going cold on the sheets, muscles stiffening. I pass out hoping I wake up. I need to make things right.
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