i always wake up and write at 4am, and how ironic that i started this at 4:44am.

you always told me that i needed to set a routine, and if i’m being honest with you, my routine had been demolished a long time ago when you decided to come in crashing.

the room is pitch black, but i can still see your face. i can see the galaxy in your eyes and the constellations running down your arms, chest and spine

did it hurt, my love? when the lord casted you out of heaven?

is this why you need to feel like a god? because he never let you be one?

you make my heart ache, and i feel your hands ****** and fussy in my guts that it makes me want to purge out acid. that’s all you’ve been making me want to do lately.

your name is shared with a gun
and i felt your bullet pierce my heart
the last time i said it.