I braced myself. Told myself over and over again
I wouldn't cry.
Four words.
Sharper than every goddamn forlorn piece of glass
I should have cut my wrists with long ago.
I have boxes full of painkillers. If only I had taken enough
to end this crucification, now and forever.
Bloody red wine fails me.
Vodka. Whiskey. Drown my heart.
Agressy. I'd rape if I could.
Murder with these bare hands
which made you moan.
No manmade prison can ever be worse
than this gruesome reality -
f**k me as you always did
and don't worry about the blood on the sheets
as I slit my throat.
You condemned me to the gutter
and in the gutter I belong.