At this point,
everything is a shader grey.
A sadder colour,
A harder line.
Nothing really matters
And I am constantly depraved.
For I have voices in my head,
That won't shut up for a minute.
Or maybe they are surrounding me,
Crushing me against the walls,
Telling me what I truly am.
As I live farther along in this
Demented journey most praise,
I wonder why I haven't allowed
The sour taste of pills
The silky texture
To pierce my stomach
And collapse my hope.
My mother told me again,
How angry I make her.
How my presence is unwanted
How I already know this through.
My loved ones are carved to
The side of me
With faces of mockery.
I had the life I wanted,
All at one moment I went from
Elation to depredation.
And all I wish is,
To be able to cut each ribbon
Of my brain from
The inner cracks of my skull
And bury my memories far away.