i am sick to my stomach
as i swallow the infertile glimpses of another's merriment
possibly plummeting into a darkness so indifferently black
a darkness-known only to the child in the mirror
and the girl staring back
with the wishes and wants that my body dribs
and with one quick collisional stroke on the child's beautifully painted canvass
one toss of the blade across her skin
one inkling of pain and i will hurt you
don't you touch the only thing i have left
don't you mess it up this time babe
she cannot have the pain
depression is the last thing the girl needs
it might just leave her empty
nevertheless not breathing

like it almost did to you

my throat hurts
and my eyes numb away the panic
from the selfish
addicting
actions of love
and hate
from the core of my soul
and the tips of my teeth
you'll fall away
but i already expected it
and it feels like theres no way out


what now

I can feel it in my 
body, I can feel 
it pulsing down 
my 
vertebrae in my 
spine, and 
in the 
blood in 
my veins. 
I can feel it 
slithering 
on 
the top layer of my melanin lacking skin. 
Oh
I can feel the 
craving
More. More. More, at first 
I thought
it was 
just a little bit 
more, a tiny 
craving.
But 
it's more than that, because 
every
******* 
time 
it's just 'a little more', 
every time it's the 
addiction. 
Hidden behind covers to 
hide the sun
when you first 
wake up, the constant 
ignorant 'wanting' telling
you that 
you 
only need a 
little more sleep. 
You only need 
one more puff. 
You only need another 
swig of the 
liquid gunshot 
in the disguise of my lips. 
"It won't hurt" says the little lying ***** who calls himself addiction.