I find myself here
More times than I should.
The taste of nicotine stained on my tongue
The thirst for anything that will find me relief
Who am I really?
Because this sickness and madness takes over everything that I am
Sneaking up on me bit by bit, unnoticeable
Until it’s too late.
I’m so tired of fighting this.
The days I cannot make it to my bed
And the days that I feel nothing.
And everyday - the feeling of uncertainty.
The feeling of complete emptiness and loneliness.
The feeling that grips me up and rips out everything I thought I am.
The days I cannot recognize this person looking back at me.
This. Disease.
It is me.