I’m about to **** up again,
With the **** my brain likes to,
Tell my head.
Repeated insults, the memories,
I’d be dead if it,
Were up to me.
Cyclical whispers,
Pushing me.
Demanding. Me.
Offer blood to the whisperings.
Offer sleep and **** and things.
Still hungry, I hear, for the life of me.
Please do shut up,
I cannot dream.
I run in fear and wake, and scream.
So tired though I rest all night.
So tired, won’t put up the fight.
I cave, I fold, I lose, I hold,
The whispers in my,
Heavy,
Soul.