Blood: Pulsing.

Stomach: Lurching.

Eyes: Blurring.

 

Palpitations…

 

Palpitations…

 

I know you hate me.

I know you want me dead.

But, you know, the feeling is mutual.

So go ahead. Get rid of me.

 

I’m a mistake…

Drive the knife into my stomach already. 

You don’t care.

 

Palpitations…

 

Palpitations…

 

My palms feel sweaty, oh the key to anxiety.

 

It’s you. 

So kill me already. 

I know you want to.

 

Palpitations…

 

Palpitations…