Hey, if I was blind
I would also wear sweatpants
I understand you

Refuse to believe
that life as we know it is
as good as it gets

What simple joy is:
To make a hot cup of tea
and drink it alone

Is it possible to be suffocated
by your own skin?
Trapped
beneath your bones?
Praying for a better life,
yet yours is perfect?


At least I can hide in vivid dreams,
between the notes in music
and behind the confident facade that has fooled so many.
Self loathing is the new black.

I don’t care if you’re trying to get better
I’m coming back
I can’t leave you alone
Sitting there, thinking you can repair
But I can’t let you do that, can I?
The urge is too great
As soon as there has been enough time
For you to regrow
Crust over
And almost heal
My itching fingers can't resist
And now you’re broken again
seeping.