walking alone down empty city streets in the rain is romanticized because someone found romanticism in the misery of the little drops of water that soaks through skin, runs down bones, and dissolves arteries til my heart is a dirty puddle on the side of the road. if only the streams running into the gutters were melted transparent walls. if only the oxygen mask could be lifted so that you could choke on your first breath of real air. i would embrace the IV at once. i would let the cold run through my veins. at the sight of your asphyxiation, i would allow my blood to stop flowing. i would welcome the end of days.