We were in a state of irreparable decay. Now dull after being once so shimmery. But I stayed anyway.

Withering away like leaves in the autumn we kept sinking further into misery hoping to reach the ocean’s bottom.

I was comfortable in the agony only because we had enough history to alleviate our shared apathy.

What happened to us? It isn’t that much of a mystery. There was simply an inflated amount of distrust.

I have overstayed my welcome. Leaving now will reduce injury. Our relationship’s death has come.

Our relationship’s bones have grown weary, and I’ll miss him. I know it’s self-contradictory. The sad truth is that we were better in theory.

Days like these

it’s hard for me to be at ease

with the girl in the mirror.

Self-hated consumes me.

Convinced everyone else agrees

that I lack value.

Days like these

I beg my maker, “please

let it be my time to go."

Living in exhaustion

of never having the option

to leave me.

Days like these

I resent my disease

to feel everything so deeply.

Violent disgust with myself

makes me wish I was someone else

then maybe I could accept my reflection.