I hope that Hell is the type of heat that feels like ice.
I don't do well in the heat.
Or else I'm finding a way to commit suicide there.
Let the chains drag me down to the tenth circle.
Crushing guilt and frost.

I'm already halfway there, aren't I?

Your words curl around me like vines
Cursing my neck with rope burns and my
Wrists don't need any more lines
But you take what you never give
And I'm yet to see you stop
How much clearer can I make it?
That I need a break?

The silence in the car as you drove me home,
I was bleeding out,
The crows had pecked my ribs clean,
Yet you,
Your scavenger eyes,
Ripped me apart,
Left me in more agony,
Than their talons ever could.

You wanted an answer
My throat came out dry.
It was burnt, and you know that,
When my mouth dries up and I'm drinking
Iced water,
A lone soldier,
With a lone bullet,
Facing an army of tanks.
And you smashed the glass on the floor.
You screamed and I cried.
Shattered.

When I folded
I collapsed
I ran back.
I was halfway to death.
Consciousness finding me once in a while,
In the bathtub.
The smoke,
Burnt plastic stench,
Rising from the bathroom window

The silence in the car
As you drove me to the hospital.

I remember you said
I was on my way to Hell.

I wish I could've told you
To meet me halfway.