Give me a second to die.
Maybe
I will realize
that my life was special.

I've known hate,
more than I've known love.
When I die,
I will take your breath away
wearing a black glove.
I bled with shame,
Ate up pain.
When I die,
I'll forever curse your name.
Your rejection murdered my innocent soul...
When I die,
What's left of you shall also ... go

You don't die when you take your last breath, but when someone uses their breath to say your name for the very last time

I hope that our few remaining friends
Give up on trying to save us
I hope we come up with a failsafe plot
To ******* the dumb few that forgave us
I hope the fences we mended
Fall down beneath their own weight
And I hope we hang on past the last exit
I hope it's already too late
And I hope the junkyard a few blocks from here
Someday burns down
And I hope the rising black smoke carries me far away
And I never come back to this town
Again in my life
I hope I lie
And tell everyone you were a good wife
And I hope you die
I hope we both die

I hope I cut myself shaving tomorrow
I hope it bleeds all day long
Our friends say it's darkest before the sun rises
We're pretty sure they're all wrong
I hope it stays dark forever
I hope the worst isn't over
And I hope you blink before I do
Yeah I hope I never get sober
And I hope when you think of me years down the line
You can't find one good thing to say
And I'd hope that if I found the strength to walk out
You'd stay the hell out of my way
I am drowning
There is no sign of land
You are coming down with me
Hand in unlovable hand
And I hope you die
I hope we both die

The time numbs. I want it raw like it was.
Like ******* and ******.
Something powerful and honest.

I let lies continue.
Fantasies I tease myself with.
I never follow these potential trails.
I’m terrified of not having blissful reverie.
Closure haunts me. I’m scared of definition.

I live in a time that never ends.
I breath the exhaust we know but cannot see.
The world spins upon my shoulders, I pass it on without using my hands.
People die, it’s distant.
Life doesn’t mean much.

I live here in a puddle.
I love all the potential I have to waste.
I don’t know what I would slobber on without it.

I want something raw.
Something abrasive, without some sort of superficial veil.
If I brush back another thin facade just to uncover a clearer image of *******.
I’ll slump the world with my bear hands, and whatever blunt object is abreast.
The ensuing postlude or coattail if you will, is gruesome and redefines the word genocide.

Life passes by because it’s not cut with iron anymore. It’s chiseled away with fantastic stone and underlying hopeful chimes of music. A method to which leaves reality unclear, and insipid. Quite literally dull and un-vitriolic.

The time jingoes tore babies from teats, bounced sore bosoms, and buried John Doe’s in mass graves beside schools. Is long gone.

I live in a butterfly massacre.

I’m triple smoked.
Inundated in a cloud.
Guda, salmon, and a cigarette.
Lay me down. Come be with me.
Something simple. I need warm skin, nothing put in.
It’s slow now. Even with death in my lips, lungs, and mouth. Violation at my fingertips, comfort at your hips.
This cuddle in mist, as sand slips from ancestral vas. Can’t be more tonic. Not even a clean breath from my stacked haze does compare.
Your presence is softer than a compliment, warmer than a gaze fair.
Your hair on my chest or my head on your breast seal a lair.
We swap the feeding hand.
Weakness is a virtue. A face unmasked in rare.
Among a stage smooth, soft skin, slick like ice, warm like loath.
Sticky with sweat, and with a low foggy stench that creeps in your nose. A familiar one, an intimate one.
A vapor that flames when you care.
This addictive fetor to foe.
Of nicotine, sweat, and lewdness.
Is a muse to you and I.
That cigarette set the mood, and you set me in.

The Spoon

I’m a spoon.
I turn concoctions
I poor innocence into a caldron of imbibe, *******, and violence.
I’m rusted from acidic negligence.
I burn the hand that Weals me.

When I make her bleed, truth crunches between my mandibles.
It’s cruel and scrumptious. I drool over its potential.
But the sheets don’t touch father sun before I leave.
She cries alone.
I cry alone.

I scoop the unknowing up. I throw them into a world of trouble and confusion.
My tongue passes my name, vowels never remembered.
My lips **** hope and maintain an emotional facade.

I like to push it in.
It hurts and I feel nothing.
But I move on.

If you want to **** yourself
There's lots of ways to go
You can do it really quick
Or you can do it slow

If you want to hang yourself
The knot will hold, you hope
The pressure is all on the knot
You best have a strong rope

You can always shoot yourself
Cut your wrists, but I confess
These ways aren't too pleasant
And they leave a nasty mess

Pills are not the best way
Too much time to save your life
The best way that I've ever found
Is to get yourself a wife

Suicide through marriage
I think that's the way to die
I mean, you're gonna pass on anyway
No matter how you try

So, suicide through marriage
Takes some time, but in the end
You'll end up dying anyway
And live your life with your best friend

how many men die
before the final battle
more than are needed