I Need Something


The worst thing about roses is that thorns feel like dog bites ripping through your skin.
Blood dripping down like red wine on a Tuesday,
Yet it's only Sunday;
A day so grim that the bees rattling in my brain for a whole week say they're tired.
It's pretty strange when they rest. It's almost like they just gave up on me.
I'm not going to complain, but when you are used to not having quiet moments,
Everything you expect disappoints you because now they're all in hibernation
Waiting for their return.
Waiting for disasters to happen is not normal, but what can you do when you feel
Your life being sucked out of your own bones, slurping out the marrow from your bones,
Leaving nothing but your lifeless body to rest.
This is why I am tired of taking my own life.
Knowing that you will not wake up to get through the 40 million obstacles the universe
Has set out for you is like taking a fish outside of water and forcing it to run.
It's like committing murder and trying to be your very own search party, and
God forbid that you catch yourself in your own dirty crimes just to end it all.
God forbid.

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This Poems Story

I always think about how things would turn out if I were to go to the extreme and try to end certain problems in a very unexplainable, yet explainable way. I always come to the realization that afterwards, there would be nothing to look forward to. I want to look for something. Like I said, Sunday nights are very grim, but you can start over tomorrow; it doesn't matter what you've done.