I feel most at home when I am barely just alive.
They all want me to live despite my impotence to thrive.
They tell me that it's worth it, and I tell them that it's not.
"Just do what makes you happy." Hush, we both know what I want.
Happiness for me means crawling six feet underground.
It's listless in the water, prob'ly bloated if I drowned.
It's taking any pills that I can steal, find, or buy.
It's jumping from a building just to see if I can fly.
It's choking on my fingers as I slide them down my throat.
It's hanging in my closet without leaving any note.
Or maybe it's a trigger or a blade or car or cop.
It really could be anything that causes things to stop.
(2023)
