dont talk to the child inside

i know who i speak to
about my regrets, my insights.
and he listens,
still holding,

that cursed knife.

we've done this before.
time, and time, and time again.
he wants to rip through his tomb,
i just,

dont want to die.

he was before me,
in my bed of thorns.
i had to see,
whatever,

he didnt believe.

he inches closer,
day, by day.
he brought me here,
im aware,

its his life.

but with that knife,
who ruined our life.
knowing it hurts me too.
i will fade,

before i realized.

i think its the end now.
im completely aware
of this roadside ditch, i call my grave.
above this cold dirt,

on which i lay.

no funeral.
just a quiet snuff,
then everything changed.
except him,

he knows my name.

forever downward
stuck, my gaze. it seems if
i was always this way.
i wasn't,

he watched me fade.

he told me to love myself,
to define what's true.
it seems his love

killed me, another part of me.

he will consume