My Death From The Wrists, Two Name

Though Rain Curses The Window Let The Poem Be Made.

I Think It Will Be A Miracle If I Don't Someday End Up Killing Myself.

I Cannot Walk An Inch / Without Trying To Walk To God.

Meanwhile In My Head, I’m Undergoing Open-heart Surgery.

Perhaps I Am No One. True, I Have A Body And I Cannot Escape From It. I Would Like To Fly Out Of My Head, But That Is Out Of The Question.