she resembled a graveyard
her body cemetaries
her eyes six feet too deep.
she claims she's not dead.
she mutters whispers barely audible
"i am not the corpse,
i am not the water that will drown you,
i am the noose tied too tight,
i am the trigger that is pulled,
the bottle of pills swallowed, the overdose.
she acts as if it's something to be proud of
something to be admired.
my hands too cold to be felt,
she is the thought that always crosses
the mind of a sad boy.
i am simply a skeleton with skin too big
for these weary bones.
i am the coffin and nothing more
than the dirt used to bury it.
the hourglass is coming to it's final stretch.
is this what it feels like to be alive?

it's impossible to be alive when you're already

                         dead.