With the burial of this, comes anew.

It's over.

Goodbye, my dear South.

It has been hell.

And sort of nice.

спасибо,

I never can figure out how to feel.

Because you get me.

And you so just...don't.

You catch the small things

that no one else picks up on

and you see things that don't exist

I could never run very far

before the chain you had wrapped around me

left metal wounds on my neck.

Drop the chain,

I will walk away.

Get over me

and my rain.