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.