The Cycle

I wrote this ages ago. And perhaps it’s not ‘poetically correct’ but I don’t care, because when I read this I am immediately transported to the pain I felt back then. And it’s kind of interesting to have a written record of how awful I felt. Like it’s more or less unedited. Just pure unadulterated bleeding onto the page. 


Each day is the same

The same monotonous

Voice drills through my skull

Drills through my gut.

It keeps me awake at night, this poison

This self-inflicted poison

Day after day

Each moment is a struggle;

A race against sluggish slime

That tries to drown me and coat my lungs.

If only it were possible

To cut away what is real

Cause what is real is the mirror

What is blind are your eyes.

Take a knife and slice away

Until there’s nothing left but pure, beautiful bones.

How long until this hate destroys what was once

A beautiful soul?

How long until this secret consumes me?

I just wanted control.

Isn’t it funny how this now controls me?

Peel back the layers of my skin


I don’t know how much longer I can do this

Everything’s twisted inside-out

Weak, wanting, thirsty

Torturous cycles

Make them stop.

Make ME stop.

Sleep is such temporary relief when

Each day is the same.


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