A slow spiral downwards
The viscosity of corn syrup...
As I relinquish myself to that corner of my mind
That I know will hurt like hell
Protecting myself from him
From all of them
Only to put myself here
Where glistening knives are only
A bottle away
And soon another thick syrupy liquid will flow
Things will get worse before they ever get better
But I never thought they'd be this irreversible
And hemoglobin won't be the only cost for this decision
What does the better me look like?
What does she know?
And, even more importantly
Who does she know?
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