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Leave this WorldI will slit my wrists
to watch the blood fall to the floor
to end my life for good
and nobody cry a single tear
I will leave this world
pretend that I never existed
This life dont need me no more
I am better off gone from this world
I will slit my wrists
to ease the pain
I can't take the crying
I can't take this pain
There is no hope in this world
There is no reason to live
I will leave this world for good
Maybe someday I will be reborn
Goodbye(again.)There is a part of me that clings to you
the part of me where my heartbeats stack up in piles
and needs you
I need you, constantly
like air or blood or anything vital, as real as metaphors and piles of
stacked-up heartbeats, breaths taken and
exhaled; I need you.
I need you and sometimes it overwhelms me.
The part of me that's still afraid and still a little hurt,
or maybe a lot hurt.
You hurt me so much and I love you more than anything else
And I'm happy. I love you like my hands soaring through the air outside a car window
wind through my hair and grinning smiles across our faces
But every now and then something slices through my joy and sends me reeling
in fear and pain and I can't let you leave me again
I'm 85% sure you won't.
The other 15% of me sits in the corner and clings to you in desperation
so utterly fucking terrified that you'll break my heart again.
I fear sometimes that I'm still missing a piece, that some part of me
has chipped off and can only be painted ove
A Bloody, Stupid Miracle The day we’d cured the human condition was the day I put a bullet through my head and didn’t die. It was also the day I realized how scared I actually was of death, and after hours of muscle ache from holding that gauze against my open skull, after the wound closed and everything went back to normal, I had myself a good old-fashioned brainstorm. How ironic.
But when summer came, everything had fallen to shit. The air scorched my skin and parched my tongue every time I took a breath. The sun glared down on a rapidly-collapsing world, full of the undying bastard children of cruelty and misfortune. What was one to do when their cells regenerated faster than they decomposed?
My feet hit the pavement, now littered with jagged bits of glass to snap at my toes, thoroughly baked by the blazing ball of bitter disdain high overhead. Today was worse than yesterday. Though I’d often wondered the purpose of it anymore, I
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