lying on the kitchen floor gritting your teeth, underneath the drawer where she keeps the cutlery. is it really worth so much, to be in such an aweful rush to grind yourself down into dust again, and again? is to win to lose the fight to try to keep on breathing at night? does it matter if you end up right or wrong all along? singing into microphones you set for yourself in days when your health held stronger and notes were in major key. is it really worth so much to be in such an aweful rush to grind yourself down into dust again, and again? does it really hurt that much, even when we barely touch, to bring a heartbeat to a hush and end by your own hand?