It starts in your heart
Then it pumps to your blood.
The art of dying isn't hard to master.
Then it moves to your bones
Then into your nerves.
Now its moving faster.
It spreads to your head,
Soon you'll be dead.
The art of dying isn't hard to master.
It feeds on your dreams
And snacks on your hopes.
Now you're dying faster and faster.
You're losing your thoughts
And your memories are gone.
The art of dying isn't hard to master.
Now your skin is pale
And your lips are white.
You couldn't have died faster.
The art of dying was not hard to master.

Yet we're stuck with the idea that life doesn't  revolve around us, but it does. You have to do you because no one else will. People complain about the effects of the universe but no one ever wants to do anything about it. We do not dislike the calamities that make you question "why me?" but truth is, we dislike our lack of initiative.

words spilled like syrup
tasted sugar sweet
at first
but then
left a bitter residue

When I used to have bad nights,
I would lie awake and cry,
curled up in a ball on my side
clutching a blade so hard my knuckles were white
trying to fight
but I didn't know which voice was mine.

Fall asleep too late,
in my dreams I would suffocate
and have bloodshot eyes when I'd wake,
but reassure my mom with my arms around her waist
yeah, I'm great.


Now when I have those evenings,
I try to keep from screaming,
but I can still feel your heart beating
when I read your messages that I can't bear deleting,
and I write all these texts to you that I'm not completing
because I told you to go away but I hadn't planned for your leaving.

Close my eyes when the darkness recedes,
the nightmares are always you and me
and I take Tylenol to make your memory leave
but my hands are red and they will never be clean
*I'm sorry for the times I made you bleed.