63 Degrees (TW)

people like me tend to kill themselves it's something about being creative and sad

i'm trapped in a run down room which is plastered in black x's and blood stains dried clumps of mud and crushed beer cans

you know, i could really use a hug right now it's really cold in this room, it's 63 degrees there's another girl in this room but not really she's suffering from the same thing i am

i do not want a hug from her

there's something so familiar about death it's not pretty i promise so please don't try it there's no blinding light, no angels, no white it's a brown and black and a greyish blue and worst of all there's no one to hug you

i grab the sides of the tub, pull my head up spit out the water, cough, gag, maybe puke i changed my mind, today is just not the day i wrap myself in a bath towel, i'm so cold it's that same room, the same 63 degrees

i go to bed that night without any clothes i can only find myself attractive if i'm bare but even then there's not much pretty there the cold room is colder, i hold myself tight i pray to god, let me sleep through the night