⠀it is time for me to leave home, yet again, as i have so many times before.
to walk away from the table still hungry.
empty handed, unseen, unheard.
not your fault, not mine, just is.
merely expressed, deep and trembling breaths slip out as they managing to simply gaze at him.
unable to form a real thought ; hands are shaky, eyes are wide. “ i don’t .. i don’t know —- .ᐟ “
there’s an attempt to get it off their fingers, their palms —— but it stings their flesh and makes them feel 𝑠𝑖𝑐𝑘 and their stomach is churning, breathing heavily as they’re trying to figure out where it came from.
or who’s blood it was. for a moment, true 𝐩͟𝐚͟𝐧͟𝐢͟𝐜 is
⠀ no , it's never theirs ; it's not his first time seeing blood , and it's not the last┈┈sweet sanguine was as familiar as the walls of the claustrophobic house that caged him and even still with