Your thoughts
are such powerful things.
They can corrupt
your mind and destroy you,
like poison,
if you let them.

And it’s so easy
to give in to.
The poison,
it’s addicting,
intoxicating.
The sorrow
so tragically inviting.

The bottomless abyss
you so willingly
return to
feels more like home
than any lover
you've ever clung to,

and more comfortable
than all your attempts
to dig your way
into their rib cage,
to try and find
a place to settle down,

with foolish hopes
of filling that emptiness
in your heart, which
you carry around so heavily,
that these pathetic attempts
will ultimately create inevitably.