I know that I have killed myself a thousand times in my head,
Never fully grasping the concept of leaving.
I do not know when the thoughts started,
I guess they've always been there,
Whispering and taking turns rotting my brain into the landfill of decay and broken thoughts.
No longer the pink fleshy muscle that sat presently in my head.
It had turned to tar,
Black and thick,
            R
               U
              N
               N
             I
            N
              G
Dripping,
Suffocating the light away from the open cracks where creativity once flowed through.
Unfathomable, the thought of dying, ceasing to exist.
What have I become?