I
let
it
happen
again.
I
slipped
up,
and
now
I'm
back
where
I
started.
I
hate
that
I
hate
myself.
I
hate
that
I
can't
stop.
I
hate
that
no
matter
how
hard
I
try,
nothing
seems
to
work.
I
hate
the
thoughts
I
have,
that
sickening
feeling
of
short
lived
joy
when
blades
grind
against
my
skin.
No
one
knows
the
things
I
do
to
myself.
No
one
hears
my
tears
or
my
awful
thoughts.
But
I
hear,
loud
and
clear,
and
it
keeps
me
awake.
I
can't
sleep
when
everything
is
so
loud.
I
love
it,
but
I
hate
it.
I
crave
it,
but
I
am
disgusted
by
it.
The
marks
appear
on
my
skin,
the
blood
rushes
to
its
surface,
the
pain
throbs.
The
pain
I
love,
the
pain
I
hate.
The
pain
I
am
addicted
to.