I think about death a lot lately. Again.
I don't need positive crap, or fake hope.
I thought maybe I need someone. But no, someone is not what I need too.
Maybe I should do something, I did.
But still, the worms inside keep moving whatever I do.
I can feel my flesh melting, finding its way between my ribs.
Suddenly a storm of fireworks start to raise my body temperature to the extent I have to take off my own skin.
I do take off my clothes when I feel like taking off my skin. Mom hates that, she doesn't know how it feels to burn alive from the inside so it's ok.
I don't really want to die, but the black hole inside me won't just leave me alone.
Dad says I should look at myself in the mirror and talk to her, encourage her, but all I want is to take her out of the mirror and tear her apart into very little chewy pieces.
Death, it's a weird thing to dream about in my twenties.