pleading with nonexistent existentialists

i lay with my mouth agape
red hair used to mould that form into lust
but i do not wish for that kind of pleasure
i wish to be carried away by my own hand
to fall so deep into simple sadness
that my skin dries out
and my lips peel off
and my eyes are found empty
bloodshot with lashes glued together by salt
i imagine a bliss where
light fills every crevice in my teeth
my tongue
the place where my lips used to be
everything that i fear
the glow tugs at my voice
urging me to cry out
pleading with my throat to breathe

i ponder the possibility of death
how blood could splatter not only my skin
but the lives of my beloveds too
so called darlings who see in me hope
who see in me a rope to hold on to
if i tie that rope into a noose
who is to say they will not use it?
who is to say i would not be responsible
so instead
i hold onto the threads of nonexistent existentialists
and hold off from killing my darlings another day.

Oona Haskovec is a writer based in San Francisco, California. He writes about inner worlds and tiny unimportant things. His work has been previously published with Synchronized Chaos, K’in Literary Journal, and Nightjar Literary Magazine.