Every day is worse.
But subtly.
You can't really tell.
Until you really can.
And then everything is light.
Blinding and hot.
So obviously in front of you.
Maybe I'm meant for this.
The pain.
The anxiety.
Maybe I'm meant to kill myself.
Maybe not.
I can't tell.
Because like I said.
It's subtle.
Slow and long.
But quick and sharp all the same.
Like an endless loop.
Red and yellow and black.
Piercing.
Unavailing.
Uneventful.
The same song over and over.
Until you kill yourself from the inside.
Out.
YOU ARE READING
Silverfish
שיריםA compilation of written thoughts, poems, and short stories composed by myself
