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
Make them stop.
Make ME stop.
Sleep is such temporary relief when
Each day is the same.