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Quinn Mar 2020
I never was much of a drinker
Until the night where your lips brushed mine
Now I can't get the taste of anger out of my mouth
Washing it down with a bottle whiskey
Your favorite
Trying to drown like everyone else in this town
How many pills will it take me to forget you?

"Depends on the pills"
I can still hear your voice in my head like a jack hammer in the middle of the night
When I wake up without you and cry

I asked you if you'd forget me and you said you never will
A match stick in my hand with a pack of cigarettes in the other
A straw poking out of the carton because I thought that would be a faster way to die
Because I can't live without you
You compliment the worse parts of me
But I can't get enough

You're the carcinogen in the air that I need to breath
You're the lie I told myself
You're a liar
But I just want to bath in your self righteous falsehood

Why can't I let you go?
I want to
I want to so desperately that I can't help but cry out of frustration
Numb pointless tears
Because you're an *******
Who couldn't care less

But I love you
Please, come back
Quinn Mar 2020
I've decided I'm going to **** you
A mercy, truly
Allow me to liberate you from your existential dread
By freeing your useless throat from your neck
Please, place your head on my block
As I lovingly swing the axe
My darling, My dearest
Please come quietly
My love
Please come silent
As I've taken your tongue and fed it to my dog
Allow me to fetch you a beverage of arsenic
I bought you a necklace today of hemp and string
Take a load off, you must be tired
Let me just kick the chair out from under you
Shall I take your eyes
I wonder how they would look in a jar
Are you cold
Let me set you on fire
And watch as you burn
Quinn Mar 2020
Am I crazy for wanting to crawl out of my skin?
This endless craving for violent metamorphism pulsing in my heart
My stomach hungry for my own end
This body a bloated ****** whale carcass waiting to explode
As my skeleton wrestles its achy bones from this cocoon of flesh
Discarding the rotten remains of my own prison
Even then will I be free?
Quinn Mar 2020
I am the ghost that haunts our house
With a sheet over my head
To hide the hole where my heart used to be for you
I've framed you for my death
To mask my own suicide
You're attempts at playing God only bury me further
Into this hole of apathy that I've made my bed
Laid with narcissus and nettle
I've come to put you to rest
Come lay your head
So I may bury you under the sweet mud of our love
Quinn Mar 2020
I found God underneath your skin
And blood
So much blood
As I took a butcher knife to your flesh
You bared your bones to me
****** faced as I carved my name into your heart
You ran away naked
You must have left your lungs behind that night
And your tongue, hidden in the night stand
I found God
And he was cold
Quinn Jul 2017
I stand at the kitchen sink and let the water run scalding. Steam lifting from the dingy metal surface like banner clouds lifting into the early morning sky. I stand at the kitchen sink and scrub the skin on my hands, the water turning to mud in my fingers. I stand at the kitchen sink with a knife to my flesh and pull back the skin that I'm so desperately trying to escape. One by one I tear my nails from their beds. They clink as I drop them into the sink. Standing at the kitchen sink, I watch the brown water turn to blood, red running from the faucet. I dip my hands in boiling bleach. The smell reminds me of home. I stand at the kitchen sink and let the salt run down my face and burn away whatever flesh is left till I am staring at smooth white porcelain. I watch my tears run down the drain and imagine it was me. I sit in front of the sink, craddling my newly baptised sins that were never mine to bare.

Nothing will ever wash away the filth
Alt. Title: Attempted escape from the prison of my youth
Quinn Aug 2015
I ****** in a healthy dose of smoke into my lungs; fire twisted and lovely. Like powder in my eyes. The ash Like sand in an hour glass, filling up my lungs like hunger. Taunting flickering flames with mouths and teeth turn me ragged with age and use. Oh the clock is ticking and the seconds are gone in the flames. The smoke is lost in my hands as the time slips by and the skulls on my door step start talking. Their bones rattle my name and the grave I can see. They are waiting for me. In the smoke and ash and dust of time. The skulls are talking on my door step.
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