misanthropemurder
ę©ś eternally sad ę©ś
- Jun 14, 2025
- 27
I was supposed to be gone six months and ten days ago, sometime around midnight I would stagger and fall to my death. And part of me thinks that I did not survive, that life was my punishment instead. Maybe God watches from heaven above, and toys with me, fucks with my head. Was he there to see me cry and beg, handcuffed to my hospital bed?
I try to make my peace; make amends with an illness that I cannot see, and I'll spite you every fucking day that I breathe. Until I'm falling out of line, falling into place again.
I was supposed to be dead half a year ago, and I don't know by the wrath of what God that I'm not. I feel my heart beat steady, when I know my pulse should be weak. I feel ghosts of that day in every word, it's a sadness that will linger and last, haunt every worthwhile memory. I cannot describe the feeling of dying, like floating and falling at once; like being torn limb from broken limb, like reaping what you sow, and realizing there was never a way to win.
I try to make my peace; make amends with an illness that I cannot see, and I'll spite you every fucking day that I breathe. Until I'm falling out of line, falling into place again.
- bb
heres some context, i tried to CTB the night after my birthday (now six months ago). recently, i have been having flashbacks and vivid nightmares about the event. i also recently started at a school for the arts, so i decided to write about how i felt. this particular poem was written in a triggered state, and i hope to see what you all think of it. i have written about CTB before but never like this.
I try to make my peace; make amends with an illness that I cannot see, and I'll spite you every fucking day that I breathe. Until I'm falling out of line, falling into place again.
I was supposed to be dead half a year ago, and I don't know by the wrath of what God that I'm not. I feel my heart beat steady, when I know my pulse should be weak. I feel ghosts of that day in every word, it's a sadness that will linger and last, haunt every worthwhile memory. I cannot describe the feeling of dying, like floating and falling at once; like being torn limb from broken limb, like reaping what you sow, and realizing there was never a way to win.
I try to make my peace; make amends with an illness that I cannot see, and I'll spite you every fucking day that I breathe. Until I'm falling out of line, falling into place again.
- bb
heres some context, i tried to CTB the night after my birthday (now six months ago). recently, i have been having flashbacks and vivid nightmares about the event. i also recently started at a school for the arts, so i decided to write about how i felt. this particular poem was written in a triggered state, and i hope to see what you all think of it. i have written about CTB before but never like this.
