Detatchment and wishing illusions
I morph into different people to distance from myself
When I truly return inside the rage is blinding
The loathing is unimaginable
Twisted vines with thorns wrap themselves around my lungs, suffocating me and digging into me ever so deeply
The demons tug at my legs, their strength gradually increasing enough to bring me to the floor
I long to scratch myself up as they wish, as I deserve, until they allow me to jump out of my own skin
I long for my soul to be heard
My true self isn't enough, it's infuriating
They have taught me that time and time again
What a pity it is, you silly little lady
Do you really think this torture will stop
When it's all
You are built for