im breaking down out of boredom; im
finding space in my emptiness
and i can't tell if it's just easier to breathe
or if the air is thinning.
its my life
and ill die as many metaphorical deaths as i want to.
and it feels like there's been an accident.
i was playing in traffic again,
and everyone was telling me
"just cross the street!"
but i saw a set of magnificent hands clutching the wheel of your car
and i decided i wanted to see those hands tremble
when they realized they'd ended a life.
goodnight,
i wont see you in the morning,
i hope to see you mourning
because when i was breathing you wanted me six feet away,
at least
but now that im six feet under you
you finally want me
im a firm lover of irony