i am sad and angry at the fact that no matter how hard i've tried, through years of completely decaying, to keep a core piece of myself alive in hopes to someday live completely

out of all the possibilities for my future, suicide is the simplest, and least painful of them all

the simplest thing I ever dreamed,
to take our clothes off and feel each other's normative bodies
with our vague residual memories of a high school campus ingrained in our brains from weeks and weeks
of being a part of something moving
so motion sick with dizzy heads and reddish cheeks
the bulimic teenage messes that we deserved to be

.ti od ot ton nosaer doog eno em eviG

with ****** sleeves, i sleep knowing
this is all for me
with pain in precarious places, i find in this state
this is all for me
every ache and release
every sense of burning relief
every taste too bitter to drink
every rest i can barely call sleep
every wound inflicted on my own skin
this is all for me

They want to tell you that the evil that I fall asleep begrudgingly with is the same that every single one like me is bludgeoning the innocent with,
I am not afraid to say it, I am not the victim,
I will stay awake for days until there's no more skin to pick from,
I'll sew shut the mouths of every infant to quiet every winter,
every mother will resent her womb, a fruitless wound within her
****** every father with these wide, arresting ****** eyes
and hips that move on their first ride enthusiastic like a child,
so certain in his mind with every ****** the ways that he'll betray her,
in a rabid fit of lust becomes a family annihilator

They want to tell you that the evil I resent that resides in me is the same as all the rest they deem as accidents
but it takes a heart of pure love and hatred to swim above the surface with a millstone round your neck

I wish I had the words to say, my blood soaked brain
it stains the cloth that suffocates, baby's blue face
I wish I had the words to say, my aching state
I ate the taste, neglect my frame
a shapeless pain, no meal today

wring out blood and words and thoughts forever
wring out blood and words and thoughts forever
wring out blood, words, thoughts, forever
wring out blood
words
thoughts
wring out blood
wring out blood
wring out blood
wring out blood
wring out blood
wring out blood

writing poetry is a way to exist, to attempt to emulate the beauty of the me that I'm not yet but the me that's inside of my head, and it's all spontaneous, nothing planned or rehearsed because rarely does anything come from it

listening to music is a way to exist, I reside somewhere in a line I interpreted to refine an alternative image of this body that I refuse to accept

dissociation is a way to exist, cause the loudness of my own ambitions and dreams and goals, or rather delusions, can distract from my own nightmarish self image, but only for a moment

self harm is a way to exist, as I hope that the me that I imagine is stronger than I am and can tolerate far more punishment inflicted by either myself or my fellow human

******* is a way to exist, cause the lust I experience is never more prominent than when there's truly nothing left for me and I've exhausted every other method, and there is nothing to do but give in to the most worthless way to feel a sense of purpose

Emorie is a way to exist, because she's an exquisite reflection of the life that I've always wanted, and what I wish I could see instead of what I get when I look into the mirror and see dead eyes and unfamiliar flesh.