Dark streets, bedroom windows black,
A haunting feeling that feels too familiar,
Fingers amongst fog crawl down my back,
Oh I’ve definitely felt like this before.
Asphalt burns like lava on weary soles,
Knives tear at my spine to match my ego,
I’ve ran out of time to fill these holes,
Wherever the wind takes me, I follow.
This ice cold chill on a warm, humid night,
Makes my knees buckle, my jaws tremble.
I am alone, almost in hell, feels just right,
The finest deathbed I’ve ever assembled.
Days wind down in hours, only a few left,
Two weeks left to live and I’m not scared.
Too many horrid memories to ever forget,
Dying days leave no time to erase or repair.
Decomposition has begun, can’t stop now,
I’m a target walking through a war zone,
My mortality is the only way to get out,
Walking in the dark until I call this home.
A bed of leaves suits me better than dirt,
It is time to shut my eyes albeit not tired.
A mist scatters my remains into the earth,
An outline of burnt ashes without a fire.
Just forget me like the dark already has.
Please help make these two weeks go by.
Don’t pretend to love me only when I pass.
If alone is how I live, alone is how I die.