I want to write a
beautiful poem
to tell you
I'm going to
**** myself.

But there are
No words
beautiful enough
to describe to you
the way
I'm about to die.

How to act okay when I'm not,
how to smile like I mean it when I don't,
how to laugh like it isn't fake,
how to live when I want to die,
how to sleep and then still wake up.

I saw you fall asleep
amidst a garden of stars,
underneath a moon
that if I looked closer,
would realise was just
as bright as your eyes,
and I found my favourite
constellation running
across your collarbones
and down along your chest,
and somewhere in between
all of that,
it collided with planets
that would never have
looked so beautiful
if I had seen them on someone else.
When I looked at you,
I found myself wondering
how a person could look
like that,
like they were the galaxy,
a galaxy so pretty that
for a moment,
the air left my lungs.

I think I realised
I was in too deep
as my eyes closed
when you fell asleep,

as my eyes closed
when you fell asleep
and what I saw
was the back of
your eyelids, not mine.

The back of your eyelids
and the beat of your heart,
the touch of your hand
and the rhythm of your words.

The touch of your hand
and the rhythm of your words,
against my chest and
falling out of my mouth.

Against my chest and
falling out of my mouth,
your words behind my tongue,
your breath in my lungs.

I think I realised
I was in too deep,
as my eyes closed
when you fell asleep.

I don't think anyone has ever looked at me
like you do, before.

I found myself barely breathing
on the bathroom floor with no one around,
except the guy downstairs who I
realised I love,
even though I told myself
never to love again.
Maybe this time,
my veins will stay closed
and my lungs will have air.
Maybe this time,
loving him won't turn wrong.

Six months ago I was a ******* mess,
my lungs ran out of air,
I couldn't breathe, let alone sleep
and I regretted not listening
to my therapist,
when she told me
"don't fall in love."