Forever moving two steps forward,
Then always falling three steps back,
It's like an arms race against a world,
Perfectly cinched around my neck.

This is the back and forth with myself,
The tug of war I've waged so long,
And now the walls are growing closer,
Every exit I knew is gone.

With self destruction as a constant,
I've always found the time to ****,
Be it in health or motion sickness,
Whether sitting or standing still.

Is everybody looking my way,
Or do my twitching eyes deceive,
I'm paralyzed by your intentions,
Or what they all perceive of me.

So this is panic at its finest,
But I swear I'll be ok,
These hands were made to pick myself up,
Despite the pieces drifting away.

My conscious, my chemistry,
A single voice, just a drop in an endless stream,
My purpose, a heavy price to pay,
Worthless to the person I am today.

The sliver under my nail, the hole torn in my sail,
The inconceivable back up plan destined to fail.
The solitude of the sheets, the **** torn in my cheek,
With my words bleeding through, now biting down, so to speak.

And it's torture, fighting fiction with a thought.

And I was doing so well...