I remember the way it tore into me.
It was sudden, like it had been waiting there starving ready to drain me.
And I remember the way my eyes turned white and the way my head got foggy.
I remember the ache, that hollow ache, that disastrous pain that could make me do anything.
Because when you're quite sure you're never making it out you don't feel guilt or sympathy for anything.
How could you when you can't even feel it for yourself?
