Desire. Entity. So many things I could live without.
Red goo, dripping from my arms; blood is oozing out.
Things I write, things I do not, keep me sane during insomnia.
Up so late, with a pencil or a book, or a knife stuck through the pages.
Life feels done.
And sleep will devour me after it truly goes away,
But it always seems to stay.
I wait hours, until the blood is no longer wet,
I'm still bleeding, soaking the covers in my bed.
Sleep will not come unless I force it.
Dreamless sleep comes at a price.
Do I dare try it?
I could end this with a knife.
Desire. Entity. And my own entity.
So many things we could do without,
Things that will not go away.
Do I dare disturb myself?
And you as well?
Silence comes at a price.
Do I dare pick up this knife?