At what point does depression become terminal? At what point does the lack of will to live outweigh any reason to do so? How long must one wish for death before she gains the right to it?

I could blame it on the weather.

It's eighty degrees outside.

i dreamed
of ****** knees,
torn flesh under my fingernails
and sweet catharsis in the sticky mess.

your eyes, wide
opened up like your mouth;
you screamed,
high and frightened,
a little girl underneath a grown man's skin.

i wish this was not common,
and i have built this cage of blood and scars;
if you are worthy, break it open
(but i hope you fly away)

pale liquid light floats through the slats in the

blinds.

he tugs and twitches the skin of his eyes as he realizes he's gone

blind.

his legs tangle in the sheets  when he finds he cannot

hear.

and now the bed is empty; he was never even

there.

it was a picture
of a girl,
back to me with no face
and very little hair.
she was not diseased
in her flesh, her body
had not betrayed her with malignancy
and cannibalistic bones.

but she was sick in her soul and
her head, marked by the cloying scent of bile and
the shaking of her hands.
her death, imminent, she prayed
that it would not be late;
such a long
and lonely wait.