I scream in my head to drown the whispering reminders of all that is wrong here like you sprinkling glitter on your social tumors.
Maybe I'll go to sleep for another year and see if it feels the same when I awake from it.
Three loveless, sexless trips around the fucking sun only coming close in the echo of a dead dream.
I'm standing at the edge of a canyon,
A sick tree waiting for the leave to float on whispers that offer hope.
There used to be some warning.
A smile from you know is like a blur of fists and the thought of a kiss kills me over and over again. I'm murdered every night.
My head likes to stab and slice.
I awaken piece by piece, a mourning pile of fantasies the spotless parts of my mind scream out for you to etch yourself inside of me so I can have that, at least.
To lay my wax paper depression over like a headstone and have something to look at and to run my fingers' tips over when I am trapped in a plastic bag of a day in an underwater week.