coldbloodpoetry

[coldbloodpoetry]

Du bist mein Anker, auch wenn du mich langsam in die Tiefe ziehst.

[coldbloodpoetry]

No one will come to save me. No one cares if I need saving. That would mean I'd have to do it all over again myself, but I can't do it anymore. I'm tired of saving myself.

[coldbloodpoetry]

I roam freely through the darkness and feel the lightness of not being exposed to prying eyes.

[coldbloodpoetry]

laying down to sleep?

give me two gin tonics first

[coldbloodpoetry]

the freedom that comes with a foreseeable end

[coldbloodpoetry]

the uncanny yet endearing feeling of nearing the end

[coldbloodpoetry]

My body isn't a divine vessel, it's a tool with which I act out my self-destructive tendencies.

[coldbloodpoetry]

It is not love that conquers all. It is grief that can take hold of every corner of a life and seize it.

[coldbloodpoetry]

If I were asked if I would rather never meet you, my answer would be yes. Because that would mean that I could never lose you, that I would never have to live in this agony of mourning you for the rest of my days.

[coldbloodpoetry]

Reliving the pain of losing you is all I have left of our bond.

[coldbloodpoetry]

Every day since you've been gone I am losing you over and over again. The pain of losing you is all I have left, all I am capable of feeling.

[coldbloodpoetry]

The world has always been a hopeless place, but it has become even more hopeless...

[coldbloodpoetry]

The bliss found in the absolution to destroying your life carelessly when no one needs you, no one loves you.

[coldbloodpoetry]

In a haze of hedonistic melancholia

[coldbloodpoetry]

I smoke.

There is a feeling of you in the cigarette smoke.

I inhale deeply. You are all around me, invading my lungs, leaving your scent on my clothes.

I can almost smell you, taste you in every breath.

The cigarette burns out. I light the next one with shaky fingers.

The ashtray is full.

[coldbloodpoetry]

How many more days will it last when I can't leave my bed, let alone my flat, and the only fresh air I get is on the balcony smoking?

[coldbloodpoetry]

Even when I have catapulted myself into another dimension, so high that I can no longer lift a finger or feel a single thing, the sirens of death don't stop serenading in my head.