Counterparts - Bouquet

Disconnecting veins in an effort to release my tragedy. All that we leave behind is misery, and my disease is a sanctuary. A curse that 

unfolds like a novel, but I’d sooner slit my wrists with the first page. I find it hard to feel alive while my heart beats in borrowed time. The cadence that I’ve kept confined existing only in the black behind my eyes. Not worthy of a memory. Deny all grief and force yourself to forget me. Don’t allow my ghost to linger any longer than it has. Let my spirit breathe, I’ve finally found peace. Allow me to exist only in the empty spaces between breaths, in the margin of each exhale that you’re sure that you have left. Be mindful of the way speaking my name could leave a poison on your lips. The ache that binds your bones will be my parting gift. A grave unfit to bear the blame. Pale limbs like flowers to be tied in a bouquet that the soil refused to cultivate. To be born, to live, to die, rotting away. There’s nothing to be done. I can’t be saved.