nope
i lied
i lied i lied
i lied i lied i lied
i lied i lied
i lied
what did i think this was,
some kind of fairytale?
some magic world where
all the storms in my head
could just be waved to a calm
and i could just cary on living
my life
in a normal
healthy
happy
way?
am i that naive,
even now?
have i not been shown
enough times just how very sick
i am?
can i not be capable of giving
a **** about myself
just once?
am i just doomed
to sit and punch myself
in the stomach again and again
and again and again and again
and again
till my knuckles turn blue
and oh, what then?
do i care?
does it matter what happens to me
when there are fifty-two reasons
it shouldn’t matter
and fifty-three
why it does?
i don’t know
i don’t know don’t know
don’t know
but it’s time to go
the heck
to sleep, so
why am i still writing?