spider catches fly.

You are angry, and then hurt, and then angry at yourself for being hurt. And then hurt again. This is pretty much all there is to work with, and you are working at it whenever you are not consciously working with anything else. You cannot tell the difference between licking wounds and picking scabs, and you are doing both. You spend days working, trying, but every moment is a reproach, and each reproach is three-fold: what you heard, what you listened to, what you keep replaying. The shadows made by cobwebs have an opinion about you, and they aren't impressed. This is what it comes to. Not least because of the cobwebs, not least because of the shadows, the dirt, the secrets and the lies.

This is what it means to know better. It means that you get five seconds of breathing room, five seconds of living with knowledge, and then for a moment, really only, you forget that you know and then you are down again, spiders crawling in your heart, and hitting yourself with your own fists because you should have known better. Worse: because you did.