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.