it kills me to think about killing myself nowadays.

about the cyclical death i've rehearsed

so many times before the mirrors.

the walls draw closer (or maybe it's my eyes),

the pain peels off my flesh,

time sheds its skin again.

the sky isn't bleak or gray or blue;

my sister isn't sick or old or dying;

my family hasn't shattered apart into smithereens.

i wonder if my screams are a 

metronome for the useless, the used, the misused.

my mother says, we're but a mausoleum

for half-spoken prayers, 

a cathedral built for the hopeless.

light splits my chest open,

ash sprinkled on the thickened walls.

i imagine a world where i don't try

to kill my mother or push my

sister into the pool because 

her screams sound so fucking melodic.

it's a world as tiny as the house we live;

we don't kill each other or ourselves.

where we're kind enough to let go of things, people.

my mother wasn't the wound i perceived her as.

just how i wasn't a victim of eclipsed introspection.

it's the human nature, at the end, to 

think of ending it before the end could begin.

i look at my sister cooking us lunch;

she doesn't look pretty from the other side of us.

turn sorrow into something intangible.

fucking poetic bullshit. 

you can't make anything out of sorrow 

when it's just anger in disguise.

the side of my head aches, the pain grows

like roots and blooms like electric shocks.

a chorus of knives scrape the sutures,

it softens only to rise up again.

my sister turns back and smiles at me before

serving lunch—the marrow of grief on fine porcelain.

death looks so pretty with its jaws unhinged

and mouth blackened. so fucking beautiful.

i wish i could abandon everything

and watch sorrow savor the silence,

carve a slice of my heart and feed it 

to the black hole swelling in my chest.

my mother calls me names and kicks me out.

the sky doesn't look so gray like they said.

the birds don't weep or cry or fly anymore.

the trees burn, the eyes burn, the bodies burn,

all in the name of unnamed seas.

it's the human nature, at the end, to walk away

and call it healing, to free fall and call it love,

to end it all and call it another fucking era.

i wake up with a terrible headache, 

my mouth numb with regrets.

the walls cave in, my sister dies in my dream.

i shudder.

it kills me to think about killing myself nowadays.