When those thoughts come of ending it, you have to fight back.
my brain is addicted to sabotage, conflicted between overdosing on dopamine and self actualization.
My wrists hurt from the work of self-loathing, careful girl, your evil soul is showing
my pacing complacency faces the fact that he's not coming back I don't know how much he was ever here to begin with.
Hide your evil soul, my child, complaining only puts the brain at it again, explain to me again how you were ever thought to be beautiful.
fight back, my love, fight back.
Who is it that is talking? Who is it that is wanting me alive, that has done everything in the power to keep me here? There have been days where the sky itself was holding up my shoulders to keep my closer to the sun than my grave.