it was always you,
who never stopped committing suicide in others,
who with one glance could smother,
who tried to repress everything when we saw your mother
stay, run, or please, suffer

sorrow is my only feeling,
and what you left behind,
is like a fortress,
with ice-cold walls and barriers and doors and cabinets and chairs and tables and chairs on tables and chains from the ceiling and chains to the sea and stairs and ladders and tables bound by chains to cabinets underwater,

and shattered, broken, smiles.

you killed yourself...