I gotta stop.

Blood exuded from cuticles. It crawled down my fingers, reaching the palm; I close my fist tighter to bleed more, pressing harder. A sharp pain surges into my brain, I’m conscious and vain. It tastes sour, this blood of mine; I hear the rain and it’s half past nine. Dinner is served.

Reason

Ever wondered why I came back to you Everytime? To take back what's mine Not love, not hope Not you, not us Not doubt, not remorse It lives in all the scars In my eyes, behind your smile When we're up all night Feel it come again? Embrace it, love, the pain Might leave a…