I feel vacant again, Can’t stop blowing my brains out.
Mt triggers pull the trigger and my 24 years young, old hands tend my wounds.
Despairation hollows out my mind the way hunger knots the stomach.
My war-torn fingers march back through no-mans land, they’re dancing through a mine-field of trauma.
The only dance they’ve ever known.
In this desserted land mirages are deceitful, like hallucinations are liars.
Like ‘swallow this bitter water called ‘coping mechanisms’ doesn’t sound like ‘you’re destroying yourself’