You asked me why
I’m purposely inhaling poison
through my lips.
I enjoy feeling my lungs
breathing as it rips,
Exhaling fumes of treason
losing reason to my seasonal eclipse.
It’s a metaphor I’ll say.
To the guillotine beheading and flogging as it whips.

You asked me how.
I savour the feeling of self-mutilating blood
dripping down my skin.
I’m dying. Drowning from the blood leaking.
Revealing what’s behind my grin.
Silver metal shears caressing my burning flesh,
succumbing to the frightening pleasures of my sin.

You asked me what.
What do I hope to achieve
from pilfering every burning liquor I could find.
Every glass I receive helps me deceive
the emptiness in my mind.
Erasing the memory of misery.
The mystery I tried to leave behind
But the pain keeps playing,
emphasizing I’m worth nothing and just as it stops playing,
I rewind.

You asked me to stop!
If it’s poison, if it’s toxic, if it hurts, why do I do it still.

Perhaps it’s because there are things inside of me
I need to ****.