Die in the Summertime

Beauty poisons the unfaithful. I am poisoned. I want to die in summer, when the world is bright and I can finally feel the contrast of my pain.

I would like to die this summer.

The buzzing of evil grows louder every day.

It vibrates in my bones.

Everything becomes foggier, consciousness blurs.

Everything merges into one rotting root.

One way to die.

Ice water, cold railings, wind, distant lights.

The mirror of life and death.

Emptiness is physical weight.

It presses on the chest. I check my ribs are in place, but my lungs are gone. They've been eaten away by this emptiness.

To bloom. Even when the roots have rotted.