Given up.

I retch and,
convulse and heave
Dirty tile floor, clinging to porcelain
-I'm so tired, I can't keep doing this-
a shell that in any other time would leave me dead.
There's a capsule of blades from what I used to love
and a pillow that occupies my hours
should be enough, just for tonight.
I lay down in the bathtub
trying not to sleep,
staying awake by screaming at the If God
as I run the blades down and hear the searing
skin like butcher paper, it rips and hisses-
I don't feel much, I haven't felt much,
but the blood is warm and the pillow beckons to me
and I sleep. I always sleep-I'm so ill it's all I do-
oh, I don't want to wake up to confinement anymore.
Please let me go-
this is no way to live.
Don't bring me back.

Reviews

[Laura Storm]

This brings strong images to my mind. It brings up nights I never wanted to relive again. It is wonderfully terrible.

[ICE]

I love this!
"Staying awake by screaming at the If God"
Just brilliant