This won't be pretty, she said.
Love poetry, ha-HA, shut up.

I used to have so much to say,
I used to think people were listening,
but I haven't heard a word myself in years.
Have you?
Suddenly I find a vast cavern to scream into,
it returns not even the faintest echo,
and I don't have it in me to feel surprised anymore.

Weak and sick and useless,
bloated and stupid,
flies in the compost,
drunk with the brevity of life.
Tomorrow could be the day,
Tomorrow might just be the day,
I pray with all my might that tonight is my night.