I want to **** myself.
Why?
Because
I
Want
To
LIVE!

I reverted back to self doubt, to a couple steps before the starting line. The jammed coffee maker a synonym for my suicide. The the open face rejection of a boy telling you, "you're not good enough" . Like a drink without a holder, I am prone to spilling over. And here I am, mopping up my insides.

The living room is full of shards of a memory
A memory worth stepping on
I want to feel the tearing of skin
Feel the blood gush out as I remove each shard that tears my feet and I,
I am not a ******* but in moments like these I feel compelled to feel the burning sensation even when there isn't a fire anymore
I miss this.
The hot feeling of passion, only there isn't any passion
The hot feeling of being alive, only there isn't much reason

I don't want to be here but where else am I supposed to stay to feel like I'm still human

She doesn't care, Felicity
Which side of the M25 she was born
But I do as the rain
Hammers down the asphalt

The poetry of the concrete collar
Exit ramps, overheads,benzene
Subtly turns me on
As she removes her high heels

'London Orbital' she slowly mouths
while lighting another cigarette
It has three 'O's
Not unlike myself

I watch her from behind the wheel
The motorway's pulse fills the space
Between us and the world
As we wait for the night.