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{"To the ones who want to love me first, I don’t deserve you, and you don’t deserve me. It is vivid, enduring to every human, alluring at any foul play you want to scream what is right and wrong, indicators stretch high that soar up to the sky you relinquish your despondency of rambling obscenities to the ones who cannot give a lousy penny about you when you are stuck in a trench with no escapism with your breath nagging against your chest and the voices of pain inside of your head never-ending cacophony. 
Near the back garden, where trees once grew and flowers once blossomed when sticks and stone that originated from the deep sea levels never once bothered you. 
Nothing to cling to but your hope, hopeful for a miracle in the hopelessness but don’t you know those miracles only ascend and engrave their pathways, fate shakes on it as alliances with only the prophets. In another dimension possibly, My love for everybody relapsed against me, I wrote in another note in props that it wouldn’t be eventually discovered cause it would resurrect me in the grave, the soul gracing me with every human being that has somehow slammed my chest against the barricaded glass until it shattered and demolished into pieces unusable, unreliable, hence as I was though reluctant to pick up the pieces left as the hot glue gun has done its job I have done mine. I can only take enough, hurt can only be relinquished and revived on a person far enough. 
I know from an early September morning: that when every bit of me was extracted,
And there was nothing left to give but the broken parts and pieces of me for whom which never picked up again, the clouds the shapeshifter as I, hypocrisy. 
Now that I am older, I avoid familiar faces, and I find myself hiding from catastrophic events, and places with crowded hunches and bunches of people. Claustrophobia secures a lock on your feet and jams it into a place where you could never escape, even through the fire exit on the other side of the building is fond of you, unable to run towards and the walls swallow you up and all you want to do is bury yourself in your devastation of not being enough. 
Reluctant, wary of the world shrouding you with blossoming poison ivy that scars you red all over, curiosity gets the best of you until you conceal yourself in a room and avoid the detrimental consequences of speaking your mind. as I watch myself on the boat on East Coast, drops of wetness inking their way down as I’d mistake them for lather that dwindles my antagonizing life. I’m dampened with the tears of everyone who comes by me a tiny inch, wanting and yearning for me to suffer from the burns they implement on my skin. 
Because whenever they inch further, our shoulders colliding, it could never be a good sign. Either they burn me or I burn them, either I reach for the stars and lose my balance and fall and dangle from the boat into the ocean that I am intoxicated with its vigorous waves and all they do is wave goodbye,
As if I have been foolish to believe I was worthy of their love; I have said before by the graveyard of my loved ones, the ones who want to love me first,
I don’t deserve your devotion, and you don’t deserve mine. So we shall part ways even if it kills us from the inside, even if you scream for me to come back as a liability, that you will accept me for whom I am. Misery is tainted along as my body swiftly drawls out to the oceanic shore, my hands stretch as I feel the sand, the seaweed, the dew raindrops fall onto me. Even if it kills me, 
I cannot fight for you when all I do is kill myself in the end wondering why I am never worthy, we stroll along the shores, and you constantly remind me why I am not there. I am far away as I have always been, as far as they have pushed me from the ledge of that specific taxi boat and watched me get succumbed by the vigorous rain that interlopes with the sea. 
I should be bound by nothing, Nothing about me enough,
So that I could survive without killing myself at the thought of you.
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