alas, i start a fire ahead of me
shield the flame as it dances
take a deep breath and release
it feels as good as it hurts
a dichotomy of shame
a conundrum from which
there is little hope for escape
and just like that, i become a statistic

those glorious stalks
of white and beige
contain my salvation
from the things i'd rather not think about right now

and each time i 'save' myself
i cede another few minutes to the void

here is not where i want to be
and so i opt to **** myself

i mean come on, if that's not melodramatic, i don't know what is.