Every convulsion shakes my core and now the only thing I can hear is your voice telling me we’re bound to a hospice. You wanted to show me that my self-pity and misery was an illusion, you wanted to show me real sickness but all I can see now is your sickness. Rotting, you belong in this hospital bed and now we realize that’s why it’s empty. Your eyes shone like emeralds but I was searching for diamonds and a substance you just couldn’t offer. I indulged in the choice to leave you in a hospice and leave your rattling bones in white sheets where I couldn’t feel their chill anymore. As cheap as your hunger was I couldn’t satisfy anything about you. I turned my back on you in a hospice and I couldn’t handle your sickness. It was something I despised. I could still hear shrill screams through plaster walls once I left you in a hospice.

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