Why can't my heart
turn my insecurities into
words and phrases you'll like and relate to
so you'll give them a heart or a share and temporarily
give me a fickle reward because I'm a pointless human being
and day in day out
wish I could put my suicide into words
a literary suicide for every time
I hate my life and
wish I could go back
to being innocent before
I broke anyone
before I realized I'll have to grow up or die
before I became the
weak one
incapable of even
martyrdom.