It’s gotten bad

Not bad as in this feeling will pass

Bad as in not caring if I crash my car and don’t survive 

At least it’ll be an excuse for dying 

I imagine what my funeral would look like 

Hope mom would know Id want daisies, sufjan Stevens playing and my face looking the same way it did in everyday life

Vanity still exists in death 

Dad used to have his up and down days 

He still does 

The way to survive?

Lock in all up in the imaginary vault you hold in yourself

Hold all the negative thoughts

anger

sadness 

Hold em hostage

Don’t let them see the light

The one flaw in his plan was the outbursts he’d have from the demons escaping for a little while

Wouldn’t happen for a month

few weeks

two weeks

few days

everyday

Sometimes I think some of them escaped him and found their way into me and that’s why I have an unjustified anger blooming in my aching chest that I can’t silence 

It’s no excuse for what I say when I lose control 

When my apologies reach the thousands to the point where they don’t matter 

I’m sorry

That I can’t make up my mind

That I can’t do what’s best for me

That I do things to hurt myself

That I think I deserve pain

That I can’t stop saying sorry

I need to stop feeling sorry