This might sound asinine but diagnose me. I know there's no cure, yet there has to be something you could prescribe to sooth this disease. Make me your human project. Save me from turning inside out. I'm on my knees with my hands on my head. I can feel my thoughts itching under my skin. I'm scratching my temple down to my skull. My fingers are breaking bone by bone. I don't believe in hell but if I did. I swear, If I could give it my own redefinition, this life would be it.
I keep asking for death but I keep waking up. Sun hasn't shun in here. Since I dragged the moon inside my room. Rain never goes away and I've grown to love the beauty of pain. I broke the glass and tore the window screen. I'm standing on the edge staring down at dying, dead roses, growing from the cracks of the concrete floor. I keep trying to sell my soul but i can't find a client. Come shove me over the edge. Watch me float like a feather, and kiss the pavement. Save me, I feel so doomed.