Roses are red
Violets are blue
I want to be dead
Can’t you take a clue

I just want to choke and die because one of my biggest flaws is that I always make myself my feel all the things that hurt. I know what was it was like to lose you way before we ever broke up as kids. I’m all too familiar to being too into what’s not into me. I’m, always the one to reach out first and put myself out there but never cool enough to hold back and let good things come to me. Stare in a mirror and realize I’m physically weaker than I was five years ago. I’m heavier, I have less hair. The small physical reasons to die are adding up like extra rounds in a revolver. I’ll never grow taller or be a lot smarter. I’m falling farther and farther and farther from all the things that I made to mean me. I’m holding myself back because I’m afraid of not being successful. I hate myself because I was never honestly loved as a kid or even if I was I was so preoccupied with making sure I knew that it was all a lie to ever feel it. I can’t tell if I’m the demon or if he’s in me holding all these memories above my head like a hangman’s post. Laughing and pulling this noose around my neck with my eyes closed tears slipping past those pathetic gates that couldn’t see my worth even if it was wrapped in a chest of glitter and gold. My eyes are closed as I write this because I can’t bare to see if I’m breaking through or being left behind. If I can’t let me live then why won’t I kill me. Why won’t I let me kill myself. I want to die. I want to die. I want to die. I want to die. I want to die. I want to die. I want to die. I want to die. I want to die. I want to die. I want to die. I want to die. I want to die. I want to love you, me. So why can’t you learn to breathe easily.