suicide, a word you could never seem to describe in a way that didn't have a version of me dead in it
you said to me,
don't leave me baby, you know i love you, ah fuck it, drink this whole bottle of vodka and set yourself on fire, wait, no, i didn't mean it, baby, i hope you get your throat slit you little slut!
what you didn't understand was that you provided the knife, the gun, the rope, the razor, the lighter, anything used to harm was meant for me, myself, and you
that's right, you made it this far you murderer, are you gonna end the mess you made of me, or are you gonna make me do your dirty work for you? i can understand why you would choose no, you wouldn't want those precious hands of yours to be covered in blood, but just remember you strangled me more than once, and just because i killed myself, doesn't mean you're not guilty, because your dirty fingerprints will always be found on my neck
YOU ARE READING
°twisted°
Poetry"oh but darling, he's not insane, just a little twisted, he likes to haunt for fun" love is evil, and life is cruel copyright: all rights reserved
