I write this with little force,
Autocorrect guiding my words;
Inhalers keeping this curse at bay,
Blades making blood flow.
I think of now with little hope,
Without a saving grace;
I think of now, a pitch-black room
With no one there but my demons.
Flurry of words seem to gush out of me,
As I hyperventilate;
Grief grows larger as they don't notice,
As these fingers grow numb.
I don't know how much I'll last,
Might as well collapse,
No matter how much I say I'll die,
I'll just live some time again.
But now it's worse.
.. .heoollp mded