who are you to dare stare back at me
on the loneliest of my days?

Don't pretend
to be good company.
I'm alone
because you
are unlovable.

who are you to dare cry with me
on the hardest night I've ever lived through?

Don't pretend
to care about my feelings.
I'm crying
because you
are unloving.

who are you to shatter beneath my rage
on the eve of my mind's utter ruin?

Don't pretend
to be in control.
I've struck the silver glass
because you
are undeserving.

She’s waking, and she’s walking out the door

She leaves the glimmer of the red-brick,

In 2009, the first.

In 2023, the last.

The blood is on her hands, and she can feel a white blanket envelop her.

It is the first sensation she has felt in years.

Mercurial and self-loathing are those tears.

No more release in them.

Only release in that.

In this prison cell are mirrors; they glare back at her with such a hideous, emaciated, mortifying
Look on her face.
What she hears seems to salivate,
She, a ****** mouth of a teeth-grinder. Sore.
Did they see her face as the telephone rang?

The woman clothed in sun weeps with fury at her, with a mask of complete, deadly, damning indifference. It is so, so sorry; waves of anguished apologies flooded its lungs as he strangled it. The blade is for you, my dear girl.

As they came together, they came apart.

A hand, gloved in red;something in the way.

It’s a knell for this lady in red, and, oh! How she has been waiting so!

The troops of glares and deafening silence she cannot bear as she races towards them; they stampede over her.

She does not battle.

She does not cry.

She does not raise a finger.

She simply lets the curtains fall.

Ophelia drowns.

Self-loathing,
Self-hatred,
Guilt,
Pain,
I'll never be a good enough partner,
I'm failing right out of the gate.

I let you down,
I see it in your eyes,
I breached that trust you had in me,
And didnt live up to my own ideals,
A moment of weakness,
A moment of idleness,
Looping in my brain,
**** this tormentable guilt!

You say I get stuck in my own thinking,
Like a bird that's fallen into tar,
But thinking back,
If my brain is the tar,
I need to clean it some dawn.

Please let this storm pass,
Let the thunder die down in my mind
Let the lightning strikes fade,
For all that's holy,
May you forgive my trespasses still,
Let me be the man you said I could be,
And fly free,
Above the ooze and filth.

Thousands of tiny little stars
Hundreds of beating little hearts
Mountain mice can't fight the village lion
But the spark can light a thousand rivers that open the threshold for a billion oceans covered in nothing but shame and disgust.
Here lies a broken body, here falls another opinion ,the grave of a trillion lies