I
never had a problem with tight spaces until I met you. You made my life so
goddamn unbreathable. You, with your phone calls and your line of questions. You
placed me in front of the grave , I'm down, buried under
everything I never got to answer because you knew. You already knew. You
thought you knew, so you buried me. But you didn't know. And now I'm
underground, closed in by particles and dirt, and it's not unlike being with
you, because you were like that, so close that I couldn't breathe. So maybe
suffocating here is better than in your arms but I don't think so. I think you
made yourself insufferable, I think you got so near because you wanted to drive
me away, and I think you left me before you let me speak because you did know.
You knew, but you needed to pretend that it was me not you who couldn't stand
small place. And the thing is that I could, until you shot me down and I got
trapped under the weight of everything but your lips. It was when they left
that I fell into this pit.
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