Let’s take a moment to consider the universe. It’s all encompassing and yet completely separate. Everything is me. All that has ever been or is are funneled through me. Anything that will be doesn’t exist if I don’t exist. Isn’t that beautiful and terrible. I am the gardener of this world. If I remove the energy from those that poison me they lose all their power. I pluck all of their little lilacs of vitriol. But as I shear, the petals become mulch to feed the Vitex that is me. This cruel tree that is the core of my mind. It’s branches are neurons that fire a creeping self loathing into my soul. Try as I might I can not separate myself from it’s roots. My fingers bloody from clawing at the dirt around it’s base I stare up at the budding flowers of my being exhausted and defeated. I can not cure myself of this pain without ending the universe.
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.