#raw verse

If I’m lucky, I’ll have my twenties in my thirties, And my thirties in my forties. I'll have something left for death, Before I kick the bucket, Just a little too early.

Pages of my book have been ripped from its spine. I spend my days, Locked away, With nothing but cold coffee by my side. The ache inside is relentless, Just like the pouring rain outside. My skin’s turning grey— There’s no warmth left in my brown eyes.

If I had the words to define this feeling, Trust me— You would hear them. I know it only ever seems like I’m either whispering or screaming, But thoughts like mine have never been fleeting. They keep me up at night, And there’s no relief in no sleeping, No mercy in overthinking— No euphoria in excessive drinking— And as ever, I am sinking.

That’s how you wanted me. That’s how you had me. That’s how you broke me. That’s how you haunt me now.

So many unanswered questions, So much doubt— My head’s spinning. Still unable to define, Where your truth met your lie, And I’m, Breaking.

But who’ll be at my funeral? I know I’ll be there, In leather and lace. Who’ll gather my ashes, And in death, Keep me safe?

I wish I could smile, With complete grace. I wish I could tell you, That I’m on a new page.

Black and white images, Slowly moving, With sensuality. Subtle hints, And caresses, Working down my resistance; Redefining my reality.