He whispers, "come on, doll, one more breath." This lonely friend of mine...he isn't real. I'm crying on someone else's floor, with someone else's clothes scattered in the corners. I'm leaning against someone else's wall, and he whispers, "Just stand up and get the hell outta here."
I'm listening to someone else's voice from my mouth when I'm screaming that this isn't working anymore. I'm tangling someone else's fingers between blades, playing with someone else's blood.
This isn't my life on the line.
Quiet, quietly he whispers, "Now walk out of here like the king you are." Only I'm no king, and I give in, because that's who this is and what she does. She tells him, "Fuck off S." and drags her flattened worth along the stairs, down to the very basement of the building. Fading, fading, he whispers, "Don't."
That's where the furnace is. Who's life is on the line again?