I’ve come to the end of my days

My little short fuse of a time is to fly

stopped searching for the cave in which it lays

all my sorrows, where the last tears are drawn from 

where all the pictures of the past have lost their smile

where the black ink has started to dry 

It is but a scissor I need to cut off this red 

To let it breathe with a new breath so fresh

To...

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So I've thought out this letter for so long as the times have changed my words have too everything changes but my mind this windowless prison permanent guard oh shadowed screw

Understand ..This was carefully planned 

I  did consider all options fooling myself..knowing other options weren't an option 

Constantly fighting and am tired I'm  locked away double pad locked and it's co...

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I’m not sure how to do this…

to turn around from self-hatred.

to not despise this life of mine.

to no longer want to throw it away.

To realize it was never mine to begin with.

To be thankful for all that I do have

and to seek the flaws in my own logic.

not for self-pity,

but to reorganize my perspective

and see what I’ve had the whole time

and simply missed.

I...

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what is it I’m trying to do here?

“your poetry is beautiful”

“you should be proud of yourself”

If only I never hid away.

If only I was still 7,

then it would be acceptable.

If I had opened up back then,

I would have had people falling over themselves

to make me feel better.

But I’m a grown ass man now.

and no amount of complaining will do a da...

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Can I have a hug?

Can I not be pulled away from?

Can I be weak, and in pain?

Can I have any physical connection that isn’t sexual?

Can I not be afraid, of the casual flirting,

with the barista behind the counter.

Can I have a small piece of the love,

Shown between a girl and her friends.

She goes to embrace another she,

A group of besties, inseparable from each...

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I want to split my head on a fire axe

I want to be found, dangling in a closet

I want to be a fine red mist on the front of a train

I want to be pulled in four by horses and rope

I want to be skewered atop a church steeple,

on display for all to see, as in the ancient days

I want to decorate my room with my flesh,

and turn my sanctuary into a meat locker

I want to...

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Suicide was my religion

I woke up every morning and called myself garbage

I went to sleep every night calling myself a coward

I was so absolutely furious that I was alive.

And so petrified that I might actually go that far,

should I ever put effort into my own abilities.

Clinging to life by my depression and sorrows.

I know no other life.

I know no other reality.

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