she spends her days
walking into walls
hoping to fall into arms that intercept her
rather than
fall
collapse
on the ground
bleed
get up
again
walk
crash
burn
fall
collapse
bleed
get up
again
but to ask for him
is too much of a burden on him
her thoughts are poison
home is a petri dish
to add
to spoil
with her infection
she is an infectious disease
or so she believes
her soul
has caught a black cancer
consuming what was once left
of her light
brilliance
joy
innocence
on occasion
sparks of joy
illuminate her life
but promptly burn out
no one gives her much to live for
there are a select few who give her
teases and tastes
of love
of hope
but so many years have gone by
and she's been left all this time without a meal
forget anorexia nervosa she's starved
of affection
of authenticity
and it's not her at fault
or it might be
either way it's herself she blames
she doesn't see who will miss her
yes
her funeral will be attended
and for a few weeks they might
talk and speculate
but all within a month
she knows
she'll be forgotten
the only brief
fleeting
memory
that she took her own life
she can't take the emptiness
despair
needs a reason to persist
but thinking
looking for one drives the inner pessimist
she can't find a reason to stay
how appropriate
because no one ever stayed
not even him
she now waits for a reason enough
to run from her latest hope
waits for it to backfire so she can say
she's done
book it and run
straight to her blade
only this time not take care to
hide
but forget to care and
die