I'm sorry you went bad whole wheat bread from Trader Joe's  
I slit my wrist at work the other day and was rushed away from home for my own safety or something  
Then some other stuff happened, it's mushy like pea soup and the thought of it makes me want to vomit a similar green.  
So anyway, it's been a week, two weeks?  
Or something  
I dunno.  
Yeah.  
Or something  
Since I've uh, been able to eat you with the cookie butter and jam I wanted to eat you with  
When I was on a serotonin trip across town for you  
and stopped by that really cool house I took a picture of  
But fuck I was still sad  
I'm always sad  
I feel shitty for feeling sad  
because I feel dramatic  
like a piece of shit  
shitty piece of shit  
fuck  
shit  
Why are you like this?  
Why are you still here?  
Why won't my body just give up on me already?  
Blackout!  
Die!  
Come on!  
Die!  
Die dammit die!  
\*pause here... take a breath\*  
\*realize I'm a crazy person\*  
\*and that I'm being dramatic\*  
I don't want to die.  
but I want to go away.  
I'm getting more comfortable with death.  
I want to sleep.  
I want to be one with the universe.  
One with the cosmos.  
I can not share this with anyone.  
Not my parents. Not even my internet friends.  
They will worry.  
I just want them to see my art.  
Not the moldy piece of bread that is my mental health.  
I'm sorry.