nobody has to know
what i'm doing between my thighs
what i'm thinking about, like ending my life
alcoholism synthesizes the metabolism
living losing its meaning
dying feels like im thriving
im chasing this never-ending high
never wanting to stop, to ask myself why
i drown further in my thoughts
the disease plaguing my mind
the need to finally leave everything behind
the desire urging me to die
nobody had to know.

you'd think you love this guy
the next thing you know, he's between your thighs
purloining your very innocence
i'm sorry, you didn't have the foresight
to finally call it a night
the disgust starts seeping in, evident
flesh against skin, it begins to rip
draining the spirit of your humour, a man's parasitic brain tumor
numb to the consequence, it drips
you become his perfect, plastic doll
submissive and subservient,
and suddenly, you don't remember what you're doing here at all.

i'd date the moon
just to be able to see the stars
in the vast night sky
alluring, dazzling eyes
surrounded in a deep sea of lies,
let me drown, in your mesmerising dream.

i think that maybe, just maybe,
the loneliness will **** the life in me
that one day i'll realise that life has nothing left in store for me
staring down the bottle of liquor
the sting of liquid courage, it feels so bitter
removing the painful memories, the forbidden knowledge
i'm thriving, i'm lying
deep down, i'm dying
and i'll wake up and see
there's no reason left for living
i'll spend my last days alone
waiting for your words
so i can validate my worth
for a devotion that doesn't exist
for someone i deeply miss
but i know it will never come.
i'd think it's almost a stranger speaking
estranged, deranged, yet life remains unchanged
you are a shadow of who you once were
i think i'm waiting on something that was never meant to be
this frugal honesty truly hurts me,
a fleeting feeling, i can't understand this.

from the book of a dying patient
from the words of a deceased soul
from the thoughts of a dead brain
i used to think life was better when i was alive
maybe it's an obvious fact
but i could still move freely
i could still speak freely, dream freely
i could still think coherently
but now i am useless
rotted to the bone
the maggots are invaded my flesh
and the knife has carved out my insides
the insects have made a home out of my dying self
my guts have spilled out
scattered on the floor like my incessant thoughts
like a sacred offering in an act of desperation
to reverse the wheel of fate, and grant me more days
but alas it proved useless in the end,
just like my existence
a little something to remember me by
i'm sorry for existing
for taking up space from others
but you no longer have to worry about dead weight
for now, i am a dead, back space.
it's endless, unwelcoming, and deathly cold-
blank, eternal death.

i'm sorry for being so unlovable
for being born imperfect
for being daring enough to be born
i'm sorry for everything i've done
for stealing so many breaths from the world
i don't deserve any of your forgiveness
even if i pray to the savior for mercy
i don't believe i deserve any of it.
i think i'm losing my talent
my attention, my meaning
i can't write, or write my rights
i can't tell from right, and right
i don't understand the words you are deciphering
the words you are interpreting feel foreign
my breaths start to feel stolen again
my thoughts start to feel useless again
i can't understand you
i can't understand you
help me
help me see the truth
please.
isn't that enough?

they told me
you'll understand once you're older
and then you left me, lonely
to rot alone, to toil alone
when all i dreamed of was to hold your hand
and maybe be more than a friend
could i ever hope to be more?

maybe not.
maybe this is all a false revelation,
a mistaken confession
maybe it's just another unhealthy obsession.

i can't tell,
from right and wrong
from love and hate
from you and i,
to you, truly,
whom i used to love,
i'm sorry you can't love me.