Sweet tooth

I have a sweet tooth for the feeling of my gut being wrenched,

so wrap your calloused fingers around my esophagus and squeeze until I look worried;

until my eyes start bulging or I throw up

or I get this out of my system.

I have a sweet tooth for the feeling of my gut being wrenched,

so dig me a grave.

There’s dirt under my own fingernails from

burying all the happiness I would have had if I hadn’t thought every goddamn thing in my life to absolute death.

Rest In Peace, my quiet mind.

It’s too bad we never got the chance to meet.