words on a screen, shadows on the wall

11:24 p.m.

i catalogue my frostbite and write about a life i'm done with in a poem i'll never finish.

i do not want

to be a part of

this darkness.

i do not want

to be a

black hole.

i make up some metaphors for how i'm feeling, coming up with something that's as blue and as empty as my heart. veins and vessels, veins and vessels. when the few family i love ask how i am, i answer, but i bury the truth a few feet underground. sometimes i like the dirt that separates us so i hide the shovels, i stamp the grave, i lock the coffin, but i beg them to dig.

11:41 p.m.

these thoughts can't fit in my hands, they spill over the sides of the page, as flammable as gasoline. dripping, dripping. death whispers ways for us to meet and i grow even more desperate to see it, face it, kiss it, embrace it. there is a welcome mat on my lips and a landing pad on my forehead. is an ending a want or a need?

11:46 p.m.

i am so sick of feeling like this.

how long do i have to keep going? how long should i?

11:53 p.m.

no words, and i feel clogged. time passes slowly now. i can't fill the seconds between the minutes between the hours. i regret every breath i take, but i can't seem to let myself choke. i tangle my throat into knots. inhale, exhale, exhale exhale e x h a l e but i am weaker than i thought.

11:56 p.m.

i close my curtains and slip back into old habits. i pull up my sheets, i let the tears roll down my cheeks. i let the night win, i give into my thoughts. there must be something to live for

2:01 a.m.

but there is not.