I sit in the pit I call a room, begging death to open the door—
But the door stays closed.


I paint my nails with the red liquid that drips from my eyes,
A chill crawls down my spine, while ashes burn away my last dose.

The voices scream through the walls,
Like nails scratching holes in the silence.
I wander the streets with tinted eyes,
Hearing only one thing—Jump.

Jump, jump, jump—on a jumpingrope through hell,
The devils laugh.

Satan smokes a joint in the corner of my mind,

Watching me like I have already lost it.

Am I in the wrong when everyone else wears the same red liquid?


I’m a ******* for the pain I give myself,
Should I break my skull against Satan’s joint,
Just to bleed and paint my nails again?