no

gooey golden puss leaks out of black hole cavities dug into the bone mixes in with bright red spurting blood from pasty skin. i hope it crusts over encompasses me crystallizes over mushy sores and infected flesh wounds. the red bursting across the whites of my eyes, framed by purple blue sleepless night etched into the skin, leaks.
would you rather die from the inside out, or the outside in?
all the bleach i swallowed to kill the mold growing along my thin bile bag makes it so talking is impossible. leap into flames sparked by the kindling in everything you don’t know, create raw skin, burst blisters and relish in the leaking liquid. the decayed ancient ruins of my bone palace are long gone, dusted away by archaeologists who studied each ugly implosion, but the sickening parts thrive in the cavernous places my structure once was. life is a constant circle jerk of pity and ego. swallow it whole, let the jagged edges tear up the inside of your throat and stare apathetically when the blood dribbles down your chin. no one cares. the universe is vast and empty and inside of you is the nothingness from which it was built.
bubbling vomit mixed in with the blood mud i fell into at 3 am is the closest thing to warmth i can find and that’s exactly how it should be.