In a world where you’re just trying to survive.
In a world where your voice has no meaning.
In a world where each being you pursue is a placeholder for every dream you’ve ever imagined of living.
The easiest part is hurting and walking away from every voice in my head like nothing I want means anything.
If I give myself no chances of survival where will I be when i’m elbow deep in the trenches of a mans soul?
Where will I be when i’m sulking and buried in regret from doing everything I ever said I wouldn’t?
It means nothing when the relapses come more often and the promises start breaking and my focus shifts to all the dangerous things I long for so desperately.
My biggest fear isn’t dying my biggest fear is exiting this life knowing i’ve let myself down, and i’m sure i’ll do just that.
I’m sure everything i’ve ever told you will become a memory of the times you thought I was crazy, the times you’d wish you’d never met me.
A memory of the times we sat face to face and spit nothing but hate in each other’s faces.
A memory of when you thought you made me happy.
And that’s just it.
You thought you made me happy and I thought you gave me the world.
I thought I was good to you, and to myself.
I was loyal to nothing but the drugs and it became impossible to form any sort of connection with someone so pure.
But I beg to differ.
You’re hard to love, and I’m hard to handle.
But what does it mean when the holes in your chest become craters and the lost feeling you carry with you turns into hatred towards your own self regret?
When nothing is easy, when nothing is beautiful, run.
Run fast and run hard.
Strip yourself of the pain, and watch yourself sink slowly.
This fixation on love fuels the fire and the need to be wanted gives false hope.
But will I ever stop doing this to myself?
The answer is no. Because I thrive off of being upset and making a home in hell. And that’s just something i choose to live with.