Staring up at the stars
running hands over the old scars
playing with my own heart as I lay awake.
God I really miss the past when no one cared,
Hell, it's really the same even now, because I'm still so unprepared.

I have at this point pretty much given up the effort of life.
Got a million things always gluing themselves to my brain,
not letting go, the plaguing memories attacking my rest each night.

And I've been thinking,
thinking maybe one last one,
and with my emptying feelings unchanging,
I just might.

Looking at all the lines I've drawn
all the progress made since then...
But no matter how long ago,
my body still begs for rewrites.
And I dont have enough heart left to say no,
that it should be lost back in time.
Yet for some unknown annoying reason everything around me screams to "wait"  I scream back "Why?"
"Because things can still change,
that my thoughts may rearrange".

So if I'm trying to be smart,
who shouldn't I give in to,
whatevers in me wants the red art.
My heart or my brain,
when both of them make me feel like in a single wrong move I'll somehow end up insane.

But who do I trust,
a future myself dreaming,
or as always, a quick fall back to the blood after reminiscing,
the hidden part of me who will always remember the feel, the freedom, brought by the savage selfharm lust.

Why shouldn't I cut
if it hurts no one else,
and no one else knows?

So what does it matter if I give in,
give this demon inside me what it wants?
I'm already dying, already losing
forcing myself into unfair competition and unmanageable choosing...

So why on Earth shouldn't I just cut?
If I'll never seriously want to leave, forever longing the warmth given in these blood filled daydreams.
Why fake the happiness when it's truly a grave?
when I can just stop,
let it happen,
and smile for real when I'm laying quietly and alone
in my shallow, self fulfilling rut.