Accidents, alcohol, and suicide
The glass was broken in my hands
But I couldn’t stop drinking. Too far gone. Can’t taste the alcohol anymore. So I didn’t notice that my wrists are bleeding.
Dying was not part of the plan
But life is change, quietly. I will go out fucking screaming. 2nd floor, second bedroom. With regrets and only night sweats keeping me company in between the sheets.
As I march my way to dante land
I grab the bottle and like the way it feels on my lips. Reminds me of a loud tragedy. This bane ending. This fading heart beat. This slow blood drip on hardwood floors.
And over the sound I can hear the angels’ scream
My name