the suicidal similarities of days passing by.
my favorite words to vomit are,
“today went fast.”
but the year went fast,
and it scares me to think of how much
time was wasted dreaming of better days
and how to masturbate to them.
my better days are scarce.
ideally they’re spent
with dead people who don’t love me
and hurt me just right.
sociopath or asshole.
i’m open to the possibility of being both,
in which case it’s over for me.
i’ve had a fixation on ending it all.
an uninspired, faux-romantic plan to move far away
and die in a fit of passion.
far enough not to cause a fuss,
slow enough to watch the entirety of my life
flash before my eyes
and squeeze in one last full release.