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 **** 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.