dying is living
I’m in pain,
all the time.
Everyday is agony,
im tired of this fight.
let me show you what I mean.
So, I’ll make my cake
out of shotgun shells.
Light it up
like a candle.
and let it blow me out.
Pull the pin,
on the grenade
as I cuddle with C-4
do you get it now?
or do I need to tell you more?
should I play with a hangman’s noose?
daggers, arrows, Spears?
this knife that I produce?
or syringes full of air?
i could go on forever,
im tired of being here.
dying is my living.
I’m drowning in this air.
This poem is about:
Me