I’m a bag of flesh, Coated in lavender blood. A dreamer on death row. I only occasionally awaken, To watch myself wither.

Don’t eat out my heart, But I bite my tongue. I tell you who you are As you tear me apart.

Now I’m here, Walking in the pouring rain, holding a heart full of hate. All these things so hard to love, and I think I am one of them.

She claws words into a bleak truth, Literary screams that beg for solace. She wallows in tune to the rattling of her chains, As the crows critter words of comfort.

It’s a bittersweet kind of grief. It should have been me. Eerily asleep within that casket, As you weep over my Mumbling corpse. Faintly whispering, ‘I forgive you’.