Sure, I put the rouge in your eyes
And that apple in your throat
But relax, little boy
This is not a backstabbing
I am simply returning
Your godforsaken rib

It is seven
in the morning,
where I wage a war
against myself

It ends only when
I take the pill

As a bullet
lodged in my mouth,
and I was the one
to pull the trigger

I am the architect of
my own destruction

I’ve survived
a dozen of wars,
and came back alive

Wounded
but alive

I woke up
in the middle of the morning,
and I was six years older

Every inch of me
was yearning for its
                         doom

A broken voice,
crooked smile,
and raw scars

I closed my eyes,
and now,
I’m no longer here

In a dream
I drank the color
of your eyes,
and swallowed
the tone
of your voice

I saw my self
Killing myself
In my sleep

Guilt,
Spotted on my bones
Spilled along my guts
Crawling up my spine
To greet my eyes with tears.

Mixed with shame,
A tint of red that calls my name.
Tiptoe around the subject,
Or else you’ll see me burst.
Holding all these things inside
Makes me feel worse.