So tell me you love me softly and repeatedly. 

He does not comprehend

How hearing the sound that his vocal cords emit

As his lips give way for one phrase to escape over and over again

Has stopped me many times from picking up a needless fight. 

i hope this battery dies.

Can Reality be like a battery that’s placed within me, charging this pathetic life?

If I find the source, could I extract it and get rid off it?

Will I freeze so there’ll be no more pointless pain to endure?

Can I hammer it, burn it, or make it bleed? Payback.

Can I ask it Why?

And, do I wait for an answer?

The dead cannot have desires

When I no longer hear my surroundings,
When I no longer can see the different colors that make life and instead see either the dark or light,
When I no longer give out carbon dioxide and pollute this Earth,
Does that mean I’ve managed to fly to the moon?
Where sound cannot be transmitted.
Where it’s difficult to breathe.
Can I safely say that I’ve lived another life just to be given a second chance on my favorite planet?
Can you tell me Death is still not here yet?

Burn marks

I have never scarred myself

with razors and knives,

nor will I ever think of doing it.

But lately,

I’ve been thinking about leaving burn marks.

After smoking my lifeless ciggies,

I could just stub them out on my body,

on the places that you have still not touched,

that are thirsty for you.

So if we ever meet,

let the burn marks guide you

to the places that have been longing for you.

But, then, will you still call me beautiful?

– With a body completely burnt.