{approaching anniversaries.}

mostly when i have to go i do. but not now yet. it kills me slightly. and draws me to my limits. listlessly listening. i have reached a fickle Fahrenheit. the desire to collect the ways in which i gauge my own illnesses is obsolete it seems. as i gather my worldly treasures in my lap, my heart. and wait to die alone with them. there is always the voice i come crawling back to. with all the best pitiful pleas. that's just like me. i can tell you that i don't wish to sleep tonight or ever. but inevitably, i will.