Literature
Whatever you want, it's mine.
It's paranoia that pushes me through
this world of love, and hate,
and whatever lies in between.
If I stopped for a second, I'd be stepped on;
I'll just walk on, for a moment, while I can.
How much do you need? I have none.
I assume you need it all, so you can have it.
I hope the void is as consuming as the flames
that burnt my heart to ashes, just this morning,
just now, and ever.
It's this nothingness that throws me around.
There's no direction, and there's no need,
all is you, the whole is us, the hole
I wish I had
in my lungs
as I bled
to the floor;
On your feet.
On your door.
The feeling I had - gone;
The life I felt: