Poetry Desperation as a footnote (HUGE TW!!! just in general tbh)

[Noahhatesme]

my hands are sores perched upon my wrists
hosts of many scars and clamped fingers
you loose your satiety with nails trimmed short
and I die to feel the blood linger
it sits in my throat burning passages
with viscous trickles of membrane
I cant help but feel alone when surrounded by saints
and so I pour another glass

My bleach bottle almost empty
i take my shots in the evening
boone can notice chemical tounges
when explicit reason is provided
But I have not had enough to think
And the silverwear scrathes my plate
as I move the peas around in circles
a trance of refusal dawns on me

I dont expect to be forgiven
for the fateful glistening or nights sat through
no sleep insite fro the private eye
that watches me 72 hours a day
they call it a hold for a reason
but i dont know what im grasping
it seems I may visit that same chair
where theyll test my habits

I missed the cup again
my vision non-impervious
to the subtle sins I commit
and attrocitys that wait
all day thinking about that mirror
opening the cabnet to reveal
a million smiles on a table in a row
inhaled without hesitation

If I had thought would you have remained
or would your ghost forever haunt me
Id like to imagine you are uo there
Lighting it up with me

I know I have two fingers
that still go on counting the days
but i loose track as i wait to join you
in the nothingness i cherish

plese let there be silence
i cant listen to my brain
or ill die trying
and youre too dead to save me

I would have taken your corpse
and buried it near the window
where we planted marigolds
but its far to late for sermons
they let you go in fashion
you were always pretty
among the flowers

If moss could grow on my impatient hands
id shake away the time
i cant wait for the onset
so its gone as I blink

i think i know where im headed
but i wont pack the antivenom
to soothe my throbbing temples
Ill take just one more
I hope this fucker kills me
I wont test the fates
take it at face value
secretly hopeing that its laced

Its not a mystery im gone
i died along with you
when i held you in my arms
and begged you you still rotted
What happened to the songs
that you would have me play
they fleeted from my memory
but the stench of loss remains

I cant hold a candle to myself
Ill burn and cut and bruise
words into my fleshy host
my illness is a parasite
My organs in jars
I extracted for you
they were all fermented anyways

I live inside a box
that i hide under my bed
and surely there will come a time
were cardboard will overfill
I hope i can pollute
the vains that never miss
Ill hit the mark and eat the infection
when I collapse under my shame

I was born for this suffering
to live is to die is to breed
and i wont enjoy the substance used
when it picks apart my conscious

there a little egging voice
just begging to be scratched
ill let her burrow in my skin
because theres truely nothing left

I hit the wall at full speed
I put ice into my bath
bucket always kept nearby
in case i roll out of bed
maybe ill expire in slumber
maybe i could catch some speed
and wind up at your door
from a dimension where all has ceased