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i stole a cigarette. no, this isn't a metaphor. there's just times where I feel like I deserve to be what falls in the ash tray. I don't know why I keep trying to harm myself, If things are going okay... It's like, I'm so used to the torture and pain, I don't ever want it to go away. No wonder I had clung to my razor blades No wonder I had clung to the trauma No wonder I developed depression and look at me now, stealing cigarettes. Desperately trying to find a way to destroy myself Fill my lungs with smoke A stench that is more than just stuck on clothes. It's the past, coming back to life inhale inhale inhale more cough You want to smother these thoughts Lose them in this smoke and fog But no, there's no escape Not even when the cigarette is done The scars still string your skin The pain woven deep into your veins The ****** scabs you keep picking at It's a coping mechanism Or a way to slowly die Is it that... I need to feel something, always? Is it that... I have fallen in love with Death? The couple of times, where he teasingly came close to... give me a fatal kiss. Is this what I lust over? Is this... what I want to feel? ... In any case... this cigarette is still lit up. Drifting me more out of myself. And I disappear like the smoke in the wind.
0
Jul 14, 2018
Jul 14, 2018 at 12:51 AM UTC
Stolen Cigarettes
i stole a cigarette. no, this isn't a metaphor. there's just times where I feel like I deserve to be what falls in the ash tray. I don't know why I keep trying to harm myself, If things are going okay... It's like, I'm so used to the torture and pain, I don't ever want it to go away. No wonder I had clung to my razor blades No wonder I had clung to the trauma No wonder I developed depression and look at me now, stealing cigarettes. Desperately trying to find a way to destroy myself Fill my lungs with smoke A stench that is more than just stuck on clothes. It's the past, coming back to life inhale inhale inhale more cough You want to smother these thoughts Lose them in this smoke and fog But no, there's no escape Not even when the cigarette is done The scars still string your skin The pain woven deep into your veins The ****** scabs you keep picking at It's a coping mechanism Or a way to slowly die Is it that... I need to feel something, always? Is it that... I have fallen in love with Death? The couple of times, where he teasingly came close to... give me a fatal kiss. Is this what I lust over? Is this... what I want to feel? ... In any case... this cigarette is still lit up. Drifting me more out of myself. And I disappear like the smoke in the wind.
lil_monster1020
Written by
23/F/Texas
Jul 14, 2018
Jul 14, 2018 at 12:51 AM UTC
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