4:37 AM

Too many times before.

I’ve heard these lies before.

Promises of August, bleeding,

Thrusted through my aching throat.

 

This wire is wrapped too tight.

Cut it, help me breathe again.

I’m in beyond my depth, suffocating,

In the still, cool air of our demise.

If to live is to die, then I face

This paradox, I live to dye.

My hand clenches, a fistful of colours.

Does any of this make any kind of sense to you?

Does it need to?

 

I see things clearer now.

Clarity, disparity, misery.

Is human life worth,

More than any other form of life?

Fuck it’s sunny; I don’t want to taste the rain

As it pours from her lips again.

This contempt is killing me,

But you don’t care, do you?

Fuck it’s sunny, I hate her.

I taste your ethereal form.

A ghost, a chokehold, friction is agony.

I turn to face the clock again,

Four thirty-seven am.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s