Weather I erase myself now or later- does not even matter.
For I bear the burden, of someone who is loathed by their creator
All this time- I have tried
To bend to your whims, apologize and cater
Only for you to remind me- how the world would have been a much better place if I had just
My pen will not form words no matter how hard that I press
Until the ink bleeds out, and all that is left is a mess
The empty paper burns into my eyes, rotting into my brain like its own empty husk.
My words are soft and flowery,
But I do not feel like attempting to discuss
How I should be the one to impress, with my pretty, petal-infused words.
Words that people simply overlook and cast aside
as “stupid poetry” or “redundant detail”
I want it to end.
Are these words blatant enough for you?
I will end it.
Is this clear enough for you to understand?
I will end it myself, by myself.
And there is nothing that anyone can do to stop
Because my screaming was never loud enough, was it?
Not to father, not to mother- not to god
who wouldn’t bother.
I know how to do it.
Because I’ve never stopped dying, not even now.
I close my eyes,
Red is in my writing so much, because
I lean upon it like a crutch, as it is the only consistent within my life
Covering me in its bloodied, feathery ******* like a thrush
The things that love me, truly, do nothing other than
Tease me with the thing that i
Want more than anything.
Anything that I wish to do fizzles beneath my hand
And withers within my chest
Until it has dried itself throughout my eyes.
Why can’t you let me cling to just one thing-
Why is it so hard to do this?
I have felt what it is like to have electricity volted throughout body, to where my brain has burst and my eyes have popped like grapes out of my skull.
How can they explain disembowelment you ask?
Because I am sick, and have felt it multiple times enough to decipher that one does not have enough nerves to feel the inside of their own stomach
I’ve died in pools of my own blood more than once. Tasted it, even
Given birth. Watched the child I loved died.
And done this all through other’s eyes, too.
I have been shot, maimed, skinned alive- had my ribs cast open with my organs peeled out, just enough to keep me amongst the living.
All within dreams. Where the sensation of pain is so real, I wake up wondering if the reality I am living is the ‘real’ one.
I meet friends that I shall never seen again, and most importantly
I love someone that does not exist.
How I love them so dearly, I love them for all it is worth existing for
And so my rationale behind dying- is that I do not want to live in this world without them
Anyone else would stand to be nothing other than a substitute
All I want is you
In my dreams
To tear my heart out and devour it, like a shattered, forbidden fruit
Since the age of four, I’ve experienced visions in bouts of sleep paralysis
No matter how hard I’ve tried, they’ve found nothing within the
nobody believes me, and my words rang on deaf ears
of my visions just being dreams that must’ve reflected my fears
but I’ve cried tears that aren’t mine
and drank poisoned, velvety wine
I believe my birth has been plagued by an incubus
But it’s not *** they feed off of,
But raw, unencumbered fear.
And somehow, I’ve fallen so deeply in love
Because the nightmares in my walking life are scarier
Than the ones beneath my bed
And for me? It is the only thing
That has truly been ‘here’.
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