His fingertips were dripping with honey and he danced through a pool  of milk on weekends.

Yet on one Saturday afternoon; grey and gloomy, he swooned and drowned in that same pool of milk.

I  could not save him so love letters sat waiting, buried at the bottom of that ivory white tub when drained.

He was waiting on  me.

His fingers bled and left the pages sticky when writing. His fingers bled with honey and my eyes began to fill with tears.

He told me all his biggest fears yet I never listened.

showed me all his darkest secrets and scars but I never looked.

And now those love letters, sappy apology notes from something he never did wrong wrapped it’s fingers around my wrist made scars as deep as his and now it’s too hard to  read them.

You know, cuz it’s covered honey and drenched in milk much like my ivory white tub is now.

Suffer
            In
                Silence.

                  
    
                               That’s
                     What
          Dying
     Is
All
     About .
              



     My suicide note.

Some days are good and some days are bad and on the days are bad, the sun has turned black.

The payment is screaming and the universe has lost all control. Jupiter’s rings are missing.

Wrapped around my throat, probably and dark matter doesn’t seem so invisible because I am the dark matter.

The thing no one can see. The pain no one notices.

On the bad days, I am floating through space. Not grounded or rooted in what I know.

I am the black hole. The point of no return and on the bad days, I feel as if I will never return!

That the sun will always be black and the payment right outside my house will always be screaming, but I know that even black holes die  so maybe the bad days will too.