I always write about the body
maybe that's because this is the only way
I am actually in control of my own.

I've always been the catalyst
to another's fulfillment.
Always an optimist
but treated the opposite.
this lifestyle's got me low.

So behold-
I have been holding my breath
since my skin was so delicate.
seems I haven't grown up yet.

Seems I never emotionally matured
into this body that reminds me
what loneliness tastes like-
it's diluted.

I have been biting the inside of my cheek
because the blood reminds me I am still living,

even when I feel dead inside.

Maybe taking control over myself
inside of these words
will be enough to make me sane
and will take away the mania inside of my veins-
but I still feel you crawling all over me.

This is a recipe for disaster
my lack luster infatuation
with a happily ever after-
you can see it in the fog of my eyes.

I am slipping into a delusion
of dissociation and depersonalization

maybe this is who I am inside
and maybe I've been wrong about me this whole time.

it's hard to know who you are
when half the time you're away from yourself.

floating idly above your chance at redemption
and recovery and autonomy.

the only thing left to cling to are these memories-
and half the time they're not correct either.

where's the ******* reset
button?