growing tired of being … More Stuck an Interrobang.
and I was, once more, a greyed out face in the background,
a ghosted silhouette, a muffled voice; forgotten, as is usual, again. … More Always.
. . . count… as a whisper, the times they’ve broken my heart, with timestamps and thumbtacks in maps . . . … More Delusional.
” . . . and then we begin to die, lie by lie. . .” … More fiends
but tonight, I’m a slave … More liberal slaves