As it IS. A journal by Adwait D

The operation won’t take long and you’ll feel much better in the morning.

There has been a slaughter here, so many of us are dead,
A lizard glides through the corpses, the couple was newly wed.
I cannot bear to live alone, and dine by myself,
Clean my single dish every night, and shuttle across life and death.

No one keeps me company; they all throw me out,
Out of their houses, out of their hearts, and none can hear me wallow.
Night after night I lay awake, covered with very my own blood.
The blood that the bugs rejected, and the blood that they cannot swallow.

The silence of the four walls pounds my brain, beating it to pulp,
The five senses are instruments of torture, and that helps me gulp.
And what's worse is that the trip is lonely too.
My dreams are just as bad as real life, so that makes it two.

I beg the solitary reaper to slice my throat and be done,
But she says she doesn't have the time, and that she won't come.
Hotel rooms are a nice place to die, you can ask the joker,
All you need are some sleeping pills and perhaps a choker.