Murder

I have woken up dead

with your tears still

melting my ice

more times than I care to remember

 

When it comes to killing myself

I’m a bit of an expert

I’ve casually toyed with the ghost

of my twitching body

as if it were play dough.

 

And then there are the paper-cuts

scratches and wounds I watch fester.

All these scars have left me feeling

alive, because death doesn’t hurt.

 

I guess I am a bitter man.

I will kill myself just to

see you cry.

 

This isn’t about me.

This is about the things I’ll never be.

This is about the things I’ll never know.

 

Your dream tears have sustained me for too long.

I write to explain myself to me.

But here I am, run out of time

run out of excuses.

Like my dreams, this paper stretches on,

the ink won’t run dry.

 

Here I am,

prince of my own kingdom

master of my own doom

stuck in a dream

between sunrises and sunsets.

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