Delicacy

I plea for normal between these four walls.
For hell to take the night off.
I’m spinning
And smiling
And falling
But the dark keeps crashing in.
Gnawing at me, the day.
Not even as satisfying as death,
but just failure to live.
Hate would be a delicacy.
Just empty, with nothing to say.
You can’t kill me.
Only I can do that
And I may.