Why don't you hang the steps upside down, we'll walk backwards and feel the blood drain to our heads while you're creeping away why don't we pull the punches back?
And perhaps rebuild those severed ties; when I felt you destroyed everything I knew I felt myself ever so slowly becoming you.
Where has my heart gone and where has my faith gone? And why am I still here, hating every breath you take,
every step you take and every move you make? And just wishing that you'd take your fucking last breath toward expiration;
I can't make myself out in the fog, you are the swamp, you are the sand beneath my feet pulling me down.
I have no face for your name, your roots never went any further down; I felt them writhe in the cellars of my mind, rotted through right where they they fell, yet here I am.
The wasted pulp of what you are. But at least if I fall I can say we failed together, sure to be the only thing we ever shared 'cause you were never there; and I'm yet to feel like I'm even here.
If I sink into the swamp that is misery, at least I know you'll drown with me as well.

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