I want the bullet, I want it deep in my chest. Deep till it causes death; death or change.
I want the sun to burn out my eyes. Burn them so I never see again; never see again or start seeing things clearly.
I want sleep to take me to a dark room. A dark room without a door; without a door or with one that leads to you and perfection.
I want to stare at the ceiling and watch it turn red to black as I hold my breath; till this all ends.
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