The mirror has shattered.
Sharp shards on the ground.
Blind and barefoot
I'm condemned to walk.
Sleek, slim cuts
Lead warm blood out.
Guidance.
Guidance for pain and death.

How dark it all is.

Regardless of the silence
All I hear is noise.
White noise.
And all I feel is nothing.
Nothing is was I feel.

Will this last?

Please,
Make it all stop.



I plead forgiveness for my selfish thoughts.
The clock keeps ticking.
Hearts keep pumping
and feelings keep drowning reality,
Making it slip through my fingers.

Escape.
Is that what it is?
No.
No, it's not.

My earth has shifted,
Quaked beneath my feet.
Stumble.
If you're not here, I'll fall.
My knees scraped,
Hands throbbing.
These scratches burn tattoos in my eyes.
I fell as you left.
Left and I chased after.



No real words flow from the ink of my pen.
No, not lies.
Not lies but none
That can truly express the everlasting
Feeling of loss.
You aren't dead... Well,
At least, not yet.

I shall mourn your departure as a cadaver
In a coffin.
Smooth, soothing wood.
Brilliant, meant only to be covered with
Rich, filthy dirt.

I try not to cry right now; I feel observed.
Buzzers.
Flesh-craving vultures who prey
On my weakness.
These words are my blood.
Private and within me.

Roaming eyes mean
Slit wrists,
-A scarlet mess.

I wish to keep you forever,
But I know it's not right.



Today was supposed to be a better day...
In a world so hectic, all suffer.
Trivial as it may seem, all pain
Is relevant:
Departures,
Losses,
Broken hearts and cardiac arrest.
This pain shrouds us
In shadows so obscure,
Preventing steady breathing.
Sobs choke in a throat,
Tears rim soon-to-be
Puffy eyes, and the air
Tightens in fresh lungs.
The end is near; because you,
-My friend-
Have left.



Gun clicks.
No one listens to words unspoken.
Shackles clasped, biting ankles;
Fresh flesh.
The corrupted world with its back to me.
No scars decorate my wrists; I wish they did.
Would it take away the pain?
Blade shimmers.
Eyes shut; begging to be noticed;
Saved.
Would I be missed?
Would blood stains forever remain?
Rope tightens.
The desire to no longer feel...
Will the final act provide relief?
Now you'll know what it'll be like when I'm gone.
Begging you to miss me.
Dead.