why is
the thought of death
so romantic
in my head
such a clear
and happy place
nonexistence

there are no thoughts
at all
no clutter
and no mess
everything is clean
shiny
and black
like my slate

and i can start over
and never let it get this way
try at least
i’ll know what to do from the start
and if i die for you i’m a martyr
the alcohol and drugs
are better off in me