you cannot undo it. you cannot wipe the blemishes away from the scars: you are always fucking up. you are always the fuck up. it’s like you can’t help yourself, always putting yourself right at your most weakest, always proving yourself to be weak, always proving how little worth you truly have. and it goes on like this, sticky sweat, stifling heat and a shallow breath that keeps you going: despite the sag, despite the fact you know exactly what you should do.