Not Going to Alberta

That makes eleven 

consecutive dreams now,

where the boy I hate 

I love deeply, and the 

people I love 

hate me deeply.

Everyone is plotting 

around the table when 

I turn nineteen and I 

know that it's probably 

like this in reality.

I was begging for death, 

I was begging for death. 

I never want to leave my f*****g bed.