Sitting on the bathroom floor with a gun in your hand
Knees pulled up to your chest
Your head rests on your knees
Your shoulders shaking cause you're laughing and crying
Gun to the side of your head
"Are you gonna do it?"
Find the sweet release when the bullet leaves the barrel of the gun and enters your brain

Click

The gun's empty
I am not dying
The gun's unloaded
I do this every time
Never strong enough to take the bullet
And never strong enough to let anyone see me like this
Always weak enough to be messed up like this
*Always thinking, always wishing I put a bullet in

I could write a poem about myself.
I could write a poem.
I could write.
I could.
I.

r ~ 4/28/14

your words tear flesh
but

your lips look so tender
while you berate
&
taunt

your stare chills to the bone
but I'm convinced a twinkle
exists in that
stare somewhere

and that smile makes me more
weak in the knees than that frown,
but either way
I'm a willing victim

It would be okay if I
just despised you,
yet I drink to a
thorned rose-
I feel at home in
the depravity

I close my eyes and I
can't help but to think
about how you look
with your hair let down