Was once told that maybe no one could feel like me

Lately I have thought that I do not feel like me

The deep ridges of my fingertips

That I carved so recklessly

Have filled in

Every thing I touched knew

That my id was suffering

Now I am nothing

My tornadoes are ending

And the hurricanes recede

Wondered if the Sun would show

But these pregnant clouds will not leave

I can feel the pores of my skin pool

With their stagnant warm water

But is it not in stale ponds

Where the most harmful bacteria grow

Inevitability

I am not sure if I can do this any more
And at my lowest a memory reminds me
Of a time from long before
Cruelly corrupted by my coddled entropy

My wicked hands drum up a devil
Whose eyes are purple and green
Gifts outstretched and ready to revel
Upon this gruesome scene

Whether it be poisoned water
Or a piece of cold rounded lead
In an old colt revolver
I come back to rather being dead

Because I am
Way more comfortable in pain
And all this “growth” is a scam
Synthetic hope to shoot in my veins

I keep tricking people into a belief
That my tomorrow is guaranteed
But I am a liar and a thief
Robbing their trust for my needs

Whether it be injection or a gun
In the end my body will burn
I am ready for this to be done
I am ready to rest in my urn

Callous conversation quick to categorize the case closed on my capricious character

But I can see the monsters tumbling from my eyes

Wet and shivering backs rise out of my tears

Their sinewy emaciated skin revealing the lack of fulfillment

Fingertips like hooks reach for my sleep

They never seem satiated

Maybe if I died they’d be content

But I wonder if they’d just float along the waves of grief

Laying their eggs into the people I love

An invasive species of sorrrow

I can’t be the thing I was before

I’d like to see who I could be

Like is he happier with himself

Or does he smile more easily

My heart beats so much slower now

Like it knows what I’m thinking

I’m watching minutes become miles

A separate mind and corpse

I can’t cry much anymore

No more pity for me

Not even some from myself

Nor in anyone else

Please don’t be that thing

That haunts me so

Every mirror

A reminder

I am slipping

Losing grip

Slit purple wrists

Bleeding out

Whispering

Softly

I wonder

Will it

Hurt when

I

Take my

Life

Rest

There’s a hourglass in my chest
And I know what time it keeps
Even after all this fighting
I’m not really trying to stay awake

I haven’t closed the door on the sandman
Instead I built a maze to slow him down
Slow the shifting sands just until they can forget me
So I might enter that sleep with a clearer conscience