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it takes all my strength not to dig you up from the ground in which you lay  

if you cut me open i am the single most regular person that has ever existed. you could pick through my parts like a lump of trash and rusted metal, and you wouldn’t find what it was that truly made me this way. it’s piled up until finally it’s just become part of me. i sit at the dinner table and i look at the monsters who claim any affection for me, and i find that it might be the only thing keeping me from calling it quits. a lot of the time i wonder if they’d even miss me or if i’d just be something occasionally gossiped about when a birthday swings around or a holiday is here to visit. these are the days when i don’t know if i’ll make it through.