Stressful reminders linger around my caffinated existance.
This is not an existence at all.

I'm dying here,
My petals are all wilting and I can't breath.
My brain stem has shriveled up and fallen on the cold tile floor.
This world was never meant for me.

I feel like such a liar, I could pull strings of my regrets
From every aching joint in my body.
And I could sew them all into a web that would say,
"I'm sorry, but I just don't like you that way."
If I thought it would remove some weight from my lungs.

This anvil on my chest is compressing me against the cracked and stained concrete.
If I were smart, each breath would be taken slowly,
But I'm swallowing air as quickly as I swallow the liquid from this bottle at my lips.
And drinking my poison only makes this anvil heavier.
I think I'm going to choke.
It's just this time, I haven't bitten off more than I can chew.











i wrote this with no intentions of writting good poetry, but just as a way to releave some stress from my mind.

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