Regrets

When life serves me a plate
or two of happiness,
the me that was, yesterday,
the me that made all those mistakes,
possesses this new me and spits on my plate,
rendering it untouchable and useless.

How do I kill myself without dying?
How do I shoot a part of myself
without getting hurt,
without being in even more pain
than my past causes me every bloody time,
every single time I try to breathe?

How do I kill the me that
made all those mistakes,
the me that drags me into a pool of her
own blood each time she stabs herself?
How do I kill all these bad memories?

If I could kill that me,
I would.
I would blow her heart the fuck out
and keep her brain,
her brains,
all of the extra ones she got
by the time it got too late.
I would shoot her again and again
till my wrists ached,
till everything ached,
till everything healed
and I found relief and peace again,
but I can’t.

I hate them I’m already resting, but in imperfect peace.

I hate that I am resting in pieces.


FIND PEACE & HEALING:

Life will break and kill you
without taking your life;
so, rest in pieces,
but find that important piece of yourself again,
even when it’s hard to put yourself together.
Find peace when all is said and done;
life is full of chances,
seek another.

We die everyday to live.

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