There is a sixteen year old drowning in my gut
I am holding his head down under water
He is me

It’s a sad fact that if you want to improve
You have to die
You have to **** yourself

He struggles mightily, though
And on days like this
He claws his way to the surface of my skin

All the old scars of the last five years
His mocking reminders that I am not free
Stand out in the cold winter air

So if teary eye or frowning mouth you see
I’m busy drowning my old self
Or is he drowning me?