Death is not beautiful
when you’re actually dead
But barely living
in half-dead trees,
half-dried roses,
and deathly thin models
it’s often alluring.
How ironic that
fallen leaves,
broken thorns,
and ruined bodies
are considered beauty
but death is only pretty
if you’re barely living.
The blades in my stomach
are making me sick
cutting my throat
my tongue is slick
with thick red slurs
creating a world from blurred lines
through timed lies
Got a noose tied
but it’s too loose
like the screws in my head
hanging from a few threads
lay me down in a wooden bed
because as alive as I seem, I’m already dead
Didn’t you hear what I said?
I told you, I’m already dead.
God, why do I feel so dead?
You’re not dead
you’ve just been fed
a lie or ten
I told you then
I’d see through the end
and I’m not gonna send
you in the ground
because you let them drown
your thoughts by the pound
so turn it around
I’m here for you
to tighten those screws
and fight the the lies
that have been spewed
just please, allow me to
I heard what you said, but it’s your turn to listen
Is this really your final decision?
I promise we can break you out of this internal prison
Why can’t you see
It’s too late for me
I can never be
truly happy
It’s not too late
it’s never too late
you’ve just got
an overfilled plate
I can NOT lose you, I’m scared
I swear I’m prepared
to work you out of that snare
trapping your mind
just give me some time
This life was mine
I’m sorry, goodbye
If that’s what you choose
I’ll see you soon…
Marysa Writes 