if you’re the one that tiptoes into my room
slips in notes under my pillow that say
death is blessed more than life. It asks for you every day so why won’t you plunge?
then I’m the one that slips in threats in the nooks and crannies of my brain that say
If you don’t die you will live
and that is far more haunting than your little notes.
if you’re the one that gifts me razors on my birthday
to string them on the cords on my arms
then I’ll tell you it won’t work. I’ve already tried that.
It sounded like a dying cat and I long for a death more human.
My Sweet boy, you can’t destroy what isn’t there:
my will to live