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.