If there’s one
thing that I
crave more
than to be
happy, it’s

                                   death
I don’t want
to end things
by my own
hand, but it

                                   would
not be terrible
for it to happen,
whatever the
method may

                                    be
I feel like an
easy and
quick death
would be

                                    preferable to
pain and
endless hurt
and struggles.
All I have now
with this “gift” of

                                     living
is endless and
painful torment
that usually
only belongs in

                                     hell.

People who do
horrible things
go to prison, get
put in cells,

                                        I’m
just wondering
what I did to
get put in the
cage that is
my mind,

                                        trapped
in an endless
cycle, a washing
machine of pain
and hurt tumbling

                                        inside
my head. I
don’t believe
that I’ve done
anything wrong, but

                                        my
prison suggests
otherwise, and
so do the voices
residing inside my

                                        head

There was a storm today,
A tree older than me,
Taller than the walls of brick
                                          Broke.
Why can't I stop thinking about it?

I keep my hands busy and my tongue tied,
my head dizzy and hide what's inside.
I roll my eyes back, always bite my lip,
and the room's black, I'm always bound to trip.

I break hearts like I break bread; rarely,
and make promises but just barely.
Sweet words never seem to hit my head,
I know it's absurd but I only hear what's left unsaid.

I loved her, I love her,
she leaves me alone just to watch me suffer.
I made a bet but I've never been a bluffer,
I'm going to lose if I don't get tougher.

I like when band-aids rip off clean and leave no traces of blood,
it's the best relief ever seen, save for the daily drenching flood.
We rip off that plastic sheet and search for forgotten pieces of skin,
that could never make us complete but still covered what was hidden within.

The stars light up the sky,
telling the story of you and I.
I feel like I'm about to die,
but my death rattle is just a sigh.
The rain is my best friend,
or at least that's what I like to pretend.
I feel like it's almost the end,
but it's come full circle after the last bend.