On quiet days,
I yearn to feel the taste
of iron in my mouth
To crack my teeth and
cut my tongue
Feeling the most "alive"
while you are dying
Isn't there something novel
about being in misery?
Feeling hot tears roll down your face,
struggling to breath like your lungs
are getting filled with salt water
between every sob.
How I yearn for my worst days
during peaceful seasons.
When will I stop?