Writing Prompt #4080
"You're going to get yourself killed."
"I've already died once! I'm not worried about a second time."
And oh, how my heart could not contain this sadness. A cup overflowing. I am overflowing. A pathetic remnants of a maelstrom. An internal destruction, because I have never been known to become undone publicly.
There was nothing I could say that would convince them that this mattered. This moment. This confession. All of this.
When I say this will get you killed I am saying that I love you.
So why must you fit yourself between graveyard teeth? Why must you be so ready for departure. Why, and why, and why?














