Lips trembling, though agape,
at the realization that comes,
whispered in the silence of those fairweather friends,
as tired of me as you are I suppose.
The abject horror,
I cry until these methamphetamine tears begin to bore acid holes in my throat and I scratch my face in a vain attempt to staunch the searing pain.

I choke until I vomit. I vomit blood that pours through gaps in my malnourished teeth and rotting gums. I've been bleeding like this for weeks but to my dismay it doesn't seem to have any major affect on my health.

I concede to my fate.
I'm sick
Sick from the world that rejected everything I ever tried to make beautiful.
Because I am not beautiful.
Because everyone who claims their love only does so when it's convenient.
They look away from the blood I wipe from the corner of my mouth.
They ignore the strange phone calls.
Fix your life, Michael, you're no good to us broken.

I don't want to be good to any of you anymore.
I wanted to drown myself in love for someone so deep that it opens the eyes of every incarnation we have ever been,
But I'm damn sure I can emulate this feeling with enough drugs and a bathtub filled with extension cords- and a final fuck you.