â  youâve the gall to come up and tell me that.  â  we only regret when all is lost,  thatâs what mama always told me. when allâs gone, allâs lost, allâs battered into the ground by a sledgehammer,  thatâs when we only realize this : what the fuck did i do?  i know the aftermath.  itâs a perpetual burn of bile up my throat, a perennial stampede performing a bacchanal in my stomach.Â
   but you, god fuck, you.   youâve the gall to only write me elegies the moment you read the epitaph erect on the ground.  (  i donât think iâm worthy of a gravestone.  people like me, they just feed us to the soil.   or the fishes.  or the worms. take your pick.  )
   â  youâve the fucking gall to just come up here and tell me that youâd save me? â     say me like it robs your chance to speak.  kiss all the air in your lungs goodbye,  a functioning tear duct farewell because thereâs no way youâre ever going to cry after this.   â  save me? just when--- just when you had the chance long ago, so called best friend. you have the nerve to tell me that youâre gonna be a fucking hero when you never actually were. â Â
  an amalgamation of anger, annoyance, sadness, agitation, regret--- no. thereâs no word in the dictionary or in over a million languages that could perfectly line up the thing that burns in your gut and devours you like a single matchstick in a forest.  â  thereâs nothing to save, katsuki. donât play the hero. donât put yourself in my shoes that iâve wore years ago.  â   you canât salvage me. not anymore.    â  donât you dare look down on me.  â   @noforfeit















