Reduction can be degrading when I'm reduced to cigarettes and pills.
Because when I'm awake I can remember faces,
I can even remember each touch.
So I'm lost in a kaleidoscope made up of loathing, with parts remembered as pleasure.
Every time I reminisce about quivering lips, I'm reminded of blood-shot eyes.
I'm in between rebirth and death itself.
Running between fear and obsession.
It's been a long road, and each stop was a harsh lesson.
It might be pride but I keep reminding myself until my body is buzzing with life.
Masochistic tendencies, all a fear of control and decisiveness.
Keep playing games to pass the time, playing at feeling alive.
We only endorse a fantasy of indulgence and ego.
Who are we to keep lying to ourselves?
Saying we're alive and well when all we want to ask is what if it isn't?