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The Day I Died [February 9th]

this house is cold and empty
but it wasnít always so hollow
once filled to the brim of perfection
resembling a spiritual art show
my favorite aesthetic was bits of nature
but my collection, like me, was all dead
dried flowers, acorns, stones, and herbs
a museum of dreams once held sacred
in this room, I once again bled poetry
while still dwelling deep in the shadows
finally said what I had to say but
it broke open my psyche; insanity followed
no longer cloaked in the darkness
it had always been my shelter
to protect others from myself and
the secret of my personal nightmare
but the razors have finally won over
surgical scalpels are sinking in deep
to fight back is utterly futile
when thereís no fucking hope for me
and the worst fucking part of it all
is not me and my pitiful lack of will
but the fact that I know whatís to follow
it is [you] that my suicide will also kill
yet I sit here in this cold fucking house
not an ounce of strength left to live
crying the ocean of tears Iíve held in all along
fucking shredding every inch my skin
tell me, what the fuck was I supposed to do?
when all day and all night, self-loathing screamed
fifteen years have created a monster inside
a waking nightmare to kill every hope, every dream
there just arenít enough rhymes that could possibly convey
why the story has finally come to this fatal conclusion
Iím so fucking sorry I ever found the Underground
only tainting this world with masochistic delusions
I cannot continue to live with myself
the dragon of despair has finally won
Iím sorry if my actions rip apart this scene
but it seems suicide was my fate all along
now Iíll go and get into the bathtub
polish off the vodka with too many Rx pills
listen to my favorite depressing songs and
become just another voiceless suicide statistic
Written by nightbirdblue (enbyblue)
Published | Edited 7th Dec 2021
Author's Note
Circa 2018
Now 3 years postmortem
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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