Pieces. . .

​I am tired of gathering the pieces that remain
Piling them up on a place they do not belong;
Pieces of your remembrance
Which I make myself believe make me feel alive
 
I grew sick of bringing the remnants of your shadow
In front of the mirror
Trying to designate your figure
To feed my cruel masochism;
 
I’m tired of implementing mediocrity in my universe
Which I adorned with filthy illusions
To keep reality away;
 
Away from these walls-
Which would not even hold you within them
 
I grew sick of bruising my veins
Producing destruction plans
To carry all the love
That lies so heavy on my arms
 
I am tired of improvising ways of survival
And of tearing apart my flesh with my own claws,
Crawling out of bed(s) at nights
And drown into poetry and smoke
 
I am tired of sharing my booze with death
Cause he never showed any compassion for my needs;
I am tired of screaming and smashing,
Making dialogues with Insanity with no end
Who for so long in this empty room
Has been my only
Friend
 
And I want you to know I loved you so
That I would spare you my last sacrifice;
And after every night I’ve been killing myself
I kept my last bullet-
 
For your head