paper, wait. July 2022.

 I never thought i'd reach the point

when i was scared to write again.

so many words to say

that feel more like paper cuts

than pieces of truth

the same paper that i wrote love notes on

the dry blood being my personal signature

putting my own health at a detriment

in the hopes that these same words

find you in a better place

than i was when i etched them down

damp spots in random places

where tears found themselves soaking in

and absorbing the ink 

as if they wanted to know what pushed me

to write all this down

truth of the matter is

it doesn't matter indeed

these are the words that no one else

will ever read

words that i never felt safe to share

so as i wrote out my pain

my body felt the need to help me out

by staining those same words

with the remnants of who i used to be

- TG3

crysanthemum.

I still feel guilty about being suicidal.

Deadline. Deadline. Deadline.

When you've tried to pre-ordain your own demise

Multiple times

You don't prepare yourself for the results

Of when your expiration date doesn't come to pass.

Deadline. Deadline.

 Grass don't wave the same in the wind.

Seems that vibrant green shade you were used to

Pales nowadays.

Looking at yourself in the mirror

Makes you wanna break it

Just to sweep up the debris afterward.

Deadline.

Time was never a concept but the ticks in your head

Get louder every day

As a reminder to you and your own subconscious

That the hands on your clock

Don't control the hands of time

Dead.

- TG3