We are falling,
Wearing noose-shaped smiles
Our necks are struggling to let out a ‘help’.
We have been miming our emotions to blind men.
We, the misunderstood misfits.
We, the soulless. Handcuffed in blades.
Our wrists are barren,
Our eyes are self-inflicted bullet holes.
We are rag dolls, stitched together with
Alcohol and prescription drugs.
We love the smell of our blood,
With suicide notes carved on each rib. We are suffocating.
Our skins are broken canvases in slums, we are dying.
And death waits upon us wearing her Sunday best.