whenever I get to thinking
about what it is that you really
like, like if bourbon was your
vice then i'd be some simple
syrup, the kind my grandma
makes--with sugar and hot
water, and how you only
use a little, a little goes
a long way.

still got those words runnin'
through my head, you'd be better off
you'd be better off if you were
*you'd be better off if you were by yourself

A hand pushes me in the black
whenever a ray of colour dares to appear in my eyes,
even in my happiest moments
I feel its touch on my spine,
it sets worries on my forehead,
a hand designated by my inner demons
to keep me restless.

In the echo of my laughter
you can still hear the voice of my angst
eating me alive.

A hand wakes me up at night,
painting nightmares under my lashes,
pulling my muscles,
breaking my bones,
digging in my flesh with its sharp claws;
the ceiling pressing my face,
I die a million times and still it is not enough.
it never stops.
.
My mind hurts,
heart beats too fast,
cracking up my weak veins.
Paralysed
I scream and cry,
afraid of the next nightmare,
I hope one day I will be able to hide.

*In the echo of my scream
you can still hear the leftovers of someone
who once wanted to live.

It's a struggle
To exist
With only
Half
A soul