Eleven hundred, warm.
Soaked in piss covered sheets.
Writhing from the urge to cut their throats while they sleep.

Mother, I'm panicking.
Don't send me away.
I know I'm not your fucking problem, but I tried to kill myself today.

I imagined her face as she found me nude. Dead.

The blackened out spaces that were smeared across my childhood have broken me down into revulsion.
Abandoned. Tormented. Things I just kept repressed in the furthest corners of me brought on convulsions.

Fucked in.
Pissed out.
Killed off.

I'm fucked from their neglect,
Still I beg for my mother.
I feel like a threat to myself and to others.

I lied to the doctors when they asked if I want to kill myself or anyone else.

At night it gets worse.
Nothing is helping.
We're all gonna die.
I feel myself ending.

Mother, it's dark down here.

I remember pale sunshine.
I felt it char my world the day I should have died.
And I should have fucking died.

ifeellifewearingintowaste.

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