Mess

He begs so desperately for eyes on him, yet speaks of no detection. All the while his life is slowly sliding. Faltering at ease, with little fighting. They walk hand and hand, forming an unknown conspiracy. The other seen as they are, but never what it could be. Songs repeated by the beating of hearts, it sounds right, I'll give you that much. But that much wont keep you alive for long. Kiss her now, for when you find her lips cold, that's when you'll know. He drinks the last of her with no chaser. He'd rather be drunk on her, then look at her sober. What a mess. When will he ever learn?