i have died more times than i have lived.

my good days can be counted with half a hand,

the rest lay on my neck, gripping tighter and tighter with each passing second,

aching to release me from this torment.

my eyes barely produce tears anymore,

i was once told that crying washes away the pain,

but it hurts from my scalp to the tip of my toes,

my buckets of hurt cannot be enough.

i hardly remember what it feels like to be alive,

to be something, not just a vessel of life,

to breathe in hope and expel negativity,

i am soiled from the inside out.

like a broken pen, i leak,

my piss is hate and i shit defeat,

the gas i pass is foul and stinky,

i am rotten on the inside, rotten on the out

my walking carcass reeks of despair,

i have died more times than i have lived.