dead bird.

witty retorts come out of my mouth but the emptiness is unavoidable
the rotting brain fused with the pavement from the pressure of feet and tires
stays no matter how long ago the minimum wage worker scrapped it off

the unavoidable consequences are upon us and i want to know
if death is part of this cycle
im not taking my pills anymore.

it seems like everyone is leaving
and not paying attention
i cry out but no one gives a fuck.

drunk her says i talk too much so i back off but its hard
sober him doesnt respond when i tell him i miss him
unregulated me doesnt go to therapy because nothing she can say will ease the pain.

ive gained back weight
probably because im so fucking terrible
and deserve to be an ugly husk of a soul.

lately i wish i could fly away
but with these wings clipped
i doubt i could even soar for an inch after jumping out of my 12th floor room.

damn i bet people would be sad
but i wouldnt care because its not for them
they dont have to be me.

i need to take my pills again.
im should go back to my room and take them.
but what if i break the seal and soar?

portrait of myself

'the blood is so realistic'
'the whites of his eyes are so white, as if a pill crushed'
'the blues painted with his soul'

cut up and used every part of my being
crushed and maimed and destroyed
put back together into something tragically beautiful

what the fuck did i just pick up??
a piece of my body falling apart?
it reminds me of the texture when i was being hurt

goo oozing out of my soul
my eyes are empty and hollow
as are the bones that i wish would break

im 12 floors up and i can jump out of this window
open the levers and push and jump
but its too easy

how can i be so perverse for a hopeless romantic?
sans romance
im a hopeless pervert

sexually repressed and emotionally regressed
back to when i was hurting and hurt
myself and drank it away

swallow the pain that you caused and cause
and effect those around you with your pitiful suicide notes
in class you think everyone hates you but youre wrong

fucking programmed for failure
since the age of 3
why did i want to go to the closet in the first place?

that hollow fucking stare
that hollow fucking mixture
the hollow fucking act of desecration

and all these fucking thoughts racing around in my head
cant pierce the veil of how much i want you to be back here
distance is a terrible fiend