i wish death was as sweet as when it's romanticized
i wish you could **** me
in a way that feels like i am sleeping
i'd curl up in the comfort of your poison ivy arms
until i am so weak
and i could finally go easily
but my life is filled with bloodshot, hungry, swollen eyes
that stare right into me
and contemplate my very breathing
though i just don't care to see them
and they mean nothing to me
those same eyes that did condemn me to a life devoid of sleep
now depend on the conditions they all  imposed onto me
to hold steady and not subject them
to the trauma of my absence
it's the only thing hindering me from succumbing to this fractured spine that i exist with
even quicker than i will eventually