It’s sick
But all I can think about
Is the pain

I think it’s an art
One that I have perfected
The ability
To ignore everything
But the pain

I don’t think
I could make room
for anything else

Because if I’m not cutting
I’m burning
If I’m not burning
I’m starving
If I’m not starving
I’m purging
If I’m not purging
I’m binging
If I’m not binging
I’m probably dead

And thus
All I can fit
In my brain
Are these thoughts
These morbid
Thoughts
Of pain