Dear ****** diary

I know i'm not alone
but i'm tired of talking to
myself.
Outside of these walls seems
so very
far away.
I never dreamt i'd learn to love
this life,
then feel as if i'd given myself away
in pursuit of
a different me.
I cant see past my lies.
I cant breathe through this smoked
den of
filth and anxiety.
This is like drowning
without the
******
of death.
This is like suffering.
All over again.
And i thought i was
all and encompassing,
but i am only
small and encumbering.
for every day i live this life
(of filth and lies and strain)
i hope there is another
where i am raw
and can still
feel the pain.