I'm sorry for being mad at you, world. Spin on, Spin on. I hear crying noises with me, they're comforting. I hear future snoring at me, comforting. I hear myself, I hear memories, I hear the cracking in my notes. I refuse to breathe this air where most oxygen is replaced with loneliness now. The more I inhale the less I have. I refuse to get this solitude flowing in my veins. The more my heart pumps in the more it cracks open. I refuse to open my eyes again where life is but a blur of moving ghosts. The more crowded the quieter it sounds.

I have prepared a thanking note before night comes, before these blinds close and I remember which way I chose;

I thank the invisible dust dancing in my eyes, an incredible excuse for my tears to hide behind. I thank the lingering words slipping from my cracking throat, an unlimited source of memories of you. I thank airwaves that deliver me honey words that are not mine, nor dedicated to me to raise back the parade of loneliness I did not remember to come and see. I thank the ignorant souls that have been accidentally shattering mine again, and again, before sunrise and after sunset. Above all I thank all this skin, from preventing my decaying process to show, for wrapping up my tangled veins with flowing sickness and from turning blue and shredding during lonely seasons.

I sincerely apologize to these matters if one moment I decide to vanish and sail away, one day.