Routine Broke

Not brushed my teeth since your death.

I know you’d still kiss me,

I know you’d be able to fix this mess.

Eating everything to eating nothing with little to no rest.

Couldn’t be at your funeral, couldn’t answer your parents last call,

I hope they all hate me, I hope they read about my fall.

I hope they feel nothing at all.

I hope they breathe a sigh of relief when I don’t exist any more.

Who knew how slowly time passes when you are trapped in all these decaying thoughts. Feeling good makes me feel worse.

Feeling, argh!

Fist to the face with a handful of ibuprofen, drowned out by downing a bottle of vodka. How did I get in this state.

How did I allow myself to fall in love.

Fill me with hate so I can burn down this place.

So they can feel how I feel now.

Self-destructive implosion just so I can get a moment of sleep, so I can get a moment of rest.

But, every time I sleep I dream of you and me.

We are in our bodies and it feels so incomplete because you are dead.

Why aren’t you here now.

Why did nobody prepare me for a fall like this.

Why did nobody prepare me to feel all of this.