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Everything's wrong
I need to talk to someone but no one is around
Its all coming back worse than before
I can't escape it
Not for a second
I try to sleep but when I close my eyes everything is even more vivid
The blood, the thoughts, the memories
No one to talk to for a couple of days
Nothing's right
I can't go on
It's as simple as that
There's no way I'll make it out this time
The only control I have in my life is my life
And I'm not strong enough or talented enough to do anything special
So I plot my own death and see if I can get away with it
Trying to prove to myself that I'm at least strong enough to put myself out of this misery
Why are the vast majority of poems about love
What, in this emotion, this feeling is so special, so unique
That whenever it is felt in the slightest a beautiful, elegant piece of work is created
To tell you the truth these types of writings I hate
I hate because I envy the happiness of it and even the sorrow without it
I believe them to be sappy fellows without any problems in the world
I presume that those who are in love think these to be the greatest writers
And I think those who write of pain, sorrow, and struggle to be the greatest
But the ones who feel opposite might suspect them to be miserable fellows rambling on and complaining about their sadness

So I guess it depends on your perception and your mood and situation to distinguish the truly talented
The ones to whom you can relate to and fully comprehend
Maybe it's the blood
Maybe it's the scar
Maybe it's the gap
Or the bar

That led me back
To this place of insanity
I am a wrenched soul
Among humanity

For I know what I do
And how it hurts others
But I am a selfish *******
So I keep on until dusk it smothers
The only thing I have left is my sadness
The jagged pieces of myself scattered across the floor
I wish there was something else
I wish I could do something other than fall apart
But it seems I have no choice

Could blame it on my brain
Irony gets me once again
For I try to avoid weakness, cowardliness
But in doing so I make myself just that:
Weak and pitiful to think any different
Overload caffeine
No food
Too many pills
Workout for hours
No sleep
****** nights with steel
Gaging meals in the bathroom
Blackout drunk
Loss of hope
Loss of fear
Loss of self
What lies ahead.
Need to cut
Can't ignore
I'm a nut
On the floor
Mind racing
Fist to wall
Can't stop pacing
Do not stall
Just do the deed
Never to return
Have to succeed
To whom it may concern
How it seems to be at this moment.
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