So I want to die,
Slip fifty pills into my throat,
Or treat my beating heart like a bullseye,
For bullets to coat.
And I just want to cry,
Cry out every exhausting tear into what I have wrote.
It would be a lie,
To say that you are not the cause.
What is wiping my tears dry,
Is not your claws,
But my own aching fingers,
Giving me an emotional pause.