Can’t you see I’m broken?
Can’t you taste my putrid disease?
This pea soup I inhale chokes me;
thorny vines squeeze around my heart.
Dare not touch me
as my skin grows ashen.
Dare not kiss
my arsenic-laced lips.
Can’t you see I’m rotten?
Can’t you smell my soul in decay?
I dream of cliffs, gunshots, and drowning;
I wait for the end each hour of the day.
This exquisite mess I’ve become
won’t be shattered by a lover’s lies.
I clean gravedirt from beneath my nails
and watch the doomsday clock tick closer to goodbye.