Empty

Days become tedious,

filled with delirium,

suffocating yourself in liquor

won't take the damage away

I tell myself,

but I do it anyway,

so do what you will with these open wounds,

and numb what you can with

whatever's closest,

boys, sex, alcohol, cigarettes,

I fathom why all the things made to kill us

are so within reach,

yet restoration seems a million miles away,

a merciful reminder not to give in,

still,

peace seems more attainable from beyond the grave