Ache

I wish for death Not in its nebulous abstraction I long for the sweet sensational crushing of my bones and heart That the ceiling would break open and spear me Release me from the burdensome decision I crave the tender burn of rope The tight ecstasy of no air to breathe I am a murderer I kill the things that people love But it is increasingly hard to believe that people could love me I make ugly things That is all these broken hands can pull from an ugly soul The world is stained with my ugliness But in this world still I am the only beautiful thing, the only soul with worth There is no room for others I wait for them to realize I ache tonight My body is boxed by these bare walls I long for a smear of a feeling I don’t deserve I long for pity For the joining and understanding I want to be remembered I wish I didn’t exist I want to be a story For my grief to be held static in the pages of a book I want my life to be a symbol A metaphor with no consequence The curtains are blue I am sad Simplicity Soft skin in comfort Its warmer here Sweltering heat I can barely breathe I drown with ever hitch of air I drown in the sweltering space between your arms This is a comfort I do not deserve.

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