I learned to die at twenty-five

I hope to heal from trauma

In these poems that I yearn to write

I learned to die at twenty-five

Like "nothing that I do is right"

I try to blame myself, in verse

It hurts so good, this blessed curse

And when I turn to die at work

I‘ll know you heard it first

I‘m guilty for the dreams I had

The things I want, they‘ll make me sad

And when I question whence they came

I blame me all the same

I‘ve mastered killing parts of me

That live on in my id

Every impulse finds expression

In these urges that I hid

And the things I never did

Inform the things I wish I didn‘t do

You‘re drinking at the ritual

"You said you wouldn‘t, didn‘t you?"

Flippant if you ever knew

Just tell yourself this isn‘t you

You‘re fitting in with every crew

"You said you wouldn‘t, didn‘t you?"