Curled up in an old quilt,
Staring intently at the ceiling
As if it holds the answers to sleep.

Rolling and turning,
Becoming ensnared in your blanket,
In your protection from the cold.

Toss the thing off in protest and punishment
Wait as the chill sets in
Forgive the blanket (it doesn’t know any better).

Start counting sheep
Everyone says it works
You quickly find out it doesn’t.

Your back to staring at the ceiling
And begging for sleep to grace your presence
Asking for the peace of Slumber.

I scare myself,
with how I feel.
          The fact that I still
          have these urges,
          terrifies me beyond all else.

It's an addiction.

If you've never done it,
you won't understand
but to me it's the cheapest drug.
              The only down-side
              is the regret of seeing,
              the scars later,
        but of course
        the Scars are nothing
        compared to the rush of a,

fresh cut....


And now the poem I intended to write,
as an escape from doing something
I know I shouldn't,
has turned into something,
all together different.....

If your sure,
We can take the next step.
But if we fall apart in the process,
Remember me always,
As the person I was,
In the beginning,
Not the Monster Waiting
at
                                The End.

Kid you make me,
        absolutely crazy sometimes....
              (and that's not always a bad thing)
Kid you make me,
        wish I were dead sometimes.....
Kid you make me,
       so happy I feel like I'm floating.......
Kid you make me,
       acutely aware of how far my morals have slipped.....
                 (in fact you help them slip further)
Kid you make me,
       so many conflicting emotions,
              that I don't know what to do.
                     My friends tell me to get rid of you,
               but I'm not so sure that I could survive....
       But I have to decide whether
the good things you make me,
                                          are worth all the bad.....

Is it bad,
   that no matter
     how hard I try
       to forget you,
         You are still
            in the back of
          my mind,
       while he's in front
    of me, and I say
things I don't mean?