Bleed, Cry And Die.

I have a routine I go by everyday. I bleed, cry and die. I wish I was able to fly. It would make everything better. I write a letter, stating that my time has come. Will you know who it’s from? I crawl in this hole, not wanting to be found. There is no love, no warmth, not a sound. Rotting slowly inside. Feel like I’m caught in a tide. Drowing, can’t breath.