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The walls are caving in
Darkness setting in
Not a single ray of light seeps in
But i like it.

Everyone
Everyone i knew
Everyone i had
Everyone i loved
And still love
Everyone that i gave a piece of me to
turned away
and walked away
with that piece
never looking back.
not even once,

But i like it.

Everyday
I feel as if
I am walking under clouds
That are raining knives
With the knives piercing through me
In every way it could
Just like innocent raindrops.

But i like it.

Each night
I wet my eyes
With my own raindrops
Then i shut them tight
and lock myself away
Repeating the mantra
Don't wake up.
Don't wake up.
Don't wake me up.
But when the morning comes
I will be awake
And my eyes were allowed to be opened.

I have no choice then
I have to get up
And live it away
Bleeding as i walk around
The face of this Earth.

People throwing words at me
as i walk
You need to stop.
You need to get out of this.
Lets find a way together.

But no.
This pain is a drug
That i am addicted to
And no rehab nor therapies
could fix it.

And i
Love it.
Pain is absolutely addictive.
****** isn’t a love song.

It isn’t the warmth of your lover’s lips,
or their hands skimming across your naked skin.

People are not ******.

Drugs are not a metaphor for your personal Adonis.

It isn’t beautiful.

It isn’t romantic.

It sure as hell ain’t heaven (but it really ******* feels like it).

Sometimes you imagine them.

Their body pressed against yours. Heated kisses and veins like cracks through marble—

Soft enough to carve with your aching fingertips.

People. Are not. ******.

You want someone whose presence can be melted down and injected.

People falter, break, lie, abuse, cheat, steal
and
leave.

Oh, God knows you have (every God you never even knew you prayed to).

You feel too much and then too little.

Not everything is as simple as fixing a rig but everything is as complicated as searching through your skin, trying again and again and AGAIN to find a perfect place to let that melted bliss baptize you for the

first;
fiftieth
hundredth
time.

Love is not a drug.

Addiction is not a religion.

Someone’s absence is not withdrawal.

Death is not poetry.

****** isn’t a ******* love song.
BPD
"Right here," [points at heart] "you're dead."
"And right here," [points at head] "you're twisted."
Borderline personality disorder.
A curse.
I am alone, empty, freezing, starving, withering.
I am sorry.
Always sorry.
Sorry to so many.
I am doomed.
I am alone.
I am twisted.
I am desperate.

— The End —