Living on a pack a day, yellow you tarnish. You feel there's justice in the things you say but you're speaking in silence.
Alone he left you, abrupt. After you poured out your soul. The dam burst from your chest. It's not fair. You feel like no one should see you like this but there he is, a mix of cool and uncouth, teetering between fight or flight. He's not said anything new. His words have all come before. He's not done what he should, he's barely opened up his doors. And yet he expects you to breathe out all you hold dear. All you have. All you are. All you'll ever be.
It's not fair. It's not right. It's not normal. It's not kosher. Who is this fiend that slips through the night, knocking over your jars, barely apologising as he slips through your fingers once more? Who is this that wants to hold you in the open palm of his hand but not promising it won't turn into a cleched fist? Who is he and why does he fascinate your mind and why does he take up all your time.
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