I think of you and all of the memories
wash over me. Our intricate language of kisses,
our intimate habits, consume my thoughts.
I see the never-ending blue of your eyes
as they stare into mine, and my heart aches
with longing. I live every day in hope
of one more kiss, one last embrace.
Every breath is a wish for you
to be mine again, my only love.

Why do we destroy ourselves?

Why do we live?




Why do I love you.

I am trapped.
I am paralysed
by my own vile thoughts.

You hate me?
I hate myself.

I am in a room full of things.
Empty, lifeless things.

Which of these things is not like the others?

I'm not like anything.

I am overwhelmed
by this monotonous hell.

I broke one of my dad's razors.
I couldn't stand it anymore,
so I picked it apart with
my scissors and pulled away
the deformed plastic frame.
I stole the glimmering blade
and bent it like paper
between my fingers.
I was intoxicated by the
sight of it. I pressed it
tentatively against my skin,
like the feather light touch
of a lover, and caressed my
veins with it's edge.


I can't stop.

How do we survive this life?
*We don't, we all expire.