I am weak.

FUCKING WEAK.

I just... FUCK!
I feel so fucking helpless.
And to say that I'm not strong enough to forgive myself and live here for you, because for all I feel for you, it is not enough to push me forward, to make me want to stand my ground. I am weak enough that I will give up on this to run away.
I feel so small, so shit, so lost.

I just wanted to get out of here, to just run and be someone else.
I wish you understood that all I see here is my mistakes, branded on me. Every fuck, every time I wished she would just stop crying, every time I wish I would stop crying, every time I wish I would just go to sleep and not wake up, every illicit kiss, every hand on me, every touch that burned for days afterwards, every trickle of shame, every heart beat, every hospital visit I didn't attend, every pill I didn't take, every lie, every breathless moment, every pain in my heavy, heavy heart.
But I never ever want you to understand. One of the most wonderful things was that you don't know. You are not marred by my mistakes, I can gaze at you, without the wash of guilt lapping at my feet like rising tides. You are not tinged black by this death, and you were so shining, so clean, that all I could see was you under my grey cloud.

But I am not strong enough.
I am so weak.
Weak for everything I have done, and weak for the things I will leave you for.

... fuck.