i can’t make you do anything you don’t want to do. this has never been about what i wanted. truth be told, i gave you the short end of the stick. you wanted your choice? here it is, the matchbox, the gun. i left some change in the drawers. i got the easy way out. but this was never about me. the ball has, is and will always be on your court. staying, leaving, running away– this has always been your call. and call it what you want: the wishbone, the fork in the road, the bus fare for a one way ticket to somewhere. the payphone is ringing and it’s for you. spare me the melodrama, just answer it, just pull the fucking trigger. the lump in your throat, heavy. the bullet crossing my eyes, the glint of the gold too bright for second guesses. we are all moving forward. none of us are (looking) back.
well. y’all know i’m siken trash anyway. this was supposed to be something with some smidgen of honesty but i can’t deal with that shit right now. goodnight.