I ponder if you can feel my pulse scrape against your words. If you can feel how my veins become temporary and disoriented. How the structure of my blood stream has confused itself with the structure of my bones. How each syllable merely elongates each detrimental minute of your voice down my throat. Such an arrogant love that you possess has blinded you from the prologue. You have plagued my heart; I’ve been dead from the start.