Ana.

I don't think this through.
We're dead, just like you.
My closet spilt the skeletons,
And sickening hearts beckon.
You sick f**k; cast me out.
I kicked myself down, you began to shout.
My hands bled beside yours in night,
And I'm sorry, you're a godless fright.
If I pick my poison and die,
Will you kiss my lips once and close my eyes?