It’s like some twisted version shock therapy stimulating my brain, slowly erasing all evidence of your existence.

I don’t want to forget you, but at the same time I do.

Because every time you cross the surface space of my mind- there’s a sharp knife jabbing my insides.

I want to remember you for who you were but it’s all a blur.

You changed and I just couldn’t keep up the pace.

I want to smother my sorrow, I want to wrap my hands around its throat and crush its windpipe.

I want to take the breath from its lungs.

I don’t want to feel this pain, but I don’t want your death to be in vain.

The poets cry for more, the audience does not wish to hear an encore because it’s dark and twisted and maybe we should just keep our pain to ourselves.

But pain demands to be felt.

I will write till my fingers go numb, till I have completely purged all of this ugliness lingering inside of me.

I lost my best friend, how do you recover from such a massive blow to the chest?

I don’t see any recovery from this.

But I know it’s the grief fogging my glasses.

I’m just not ready to take them off.

I deserve to feel this.

Because you didn’t just kill yourself, you killed me too.

The only difference is I didn’t sign the DNR papers.

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