Brooklyn

i know this girl hanging over the edge of life.
secretly laughing inside.
she feels so misplaced.
surrounded by what seems to be empty space.
why she can't just fucking let go of NOTHING and jump towards SOMETHING.
i just can't figure it out.
she's all dirty with scandalous adventure.
and hot to the touch.
she's paper thin.
and can't stop looking at herself.
her dark circles under her eyes spread quickly.
another late night or early morning
her thumb is caloused
her back still aches.
her eyes have turned black.
and her voice grown softer.
wash your hands in a hurry.
this cold she's seemed to have caught is numbing her to the bone.
it spreads inside of empty places
to ravage all your ghosts.
leaving you to smile comatosly while watching your own funeral.
this is how she dies?
over piercing voices of sickness, trash and lies.
it seems to be that way.
take her then.
she's tired anyways.
she's lonely.
and so sick.
of addictions she can't handle.
theres no more faking it.
the blood has already stained these sheets.
the letter is in the mail.
the coffin already purchased.
obituaries have been updated.
she'll soon be taken from here.
she'll no longer be tortured with loving her own misery.
and wondering why it feels so good.
but somehow is ruining her.
she'll sleep now.
and sleep peacefully.
poor girl.
is what they'll say.
if they only knew that she didn't give a fuck.
she didn't give a fuck about what any of them said.
or what they thought.
she was who she was.
and had no shame.
this is WHO SHE WAS.
but now she's no longer here.