11h
Bathing in my own hair,
Basking in my own filth,
Remembering, painstakingly,
The roads that I’ve built.
Was that glance purely friendly?
Or was it a mask of contempt?
Memories, haunting me,
As I uncover the truth.
Bathing in my own hair,
Caressing me, tormenting me,
Reminding me of all I’ve lost,
As it flies into the air.
The water flows in and out,
My mood goes up and down.
Life’s rollercoaster is sickening,
My motion sickness, my undoing.
Entangled in the fibers,
Surrounded by liars,
That claimed to be my friend.
Isolationism,
Personal despotism,
All due to a bitter end.
Bathing in my own hair,
My failures cascading.
Basking in my self-worth,
Esteem breaking.
If I lost what little I had,
Perhaps, I’m just not meant to hold,
Friendship in my grasp.
From my experience, it doesn’t last.
The waters ripple,
My tears crippling me.
I wonder, would I have been happier,
If we were never to meet?
Bathing in my own hair,
Tying my wrists to my chest.
Vulnerable as my demons,
Take me to their lair.
They beat me, chastise me,
Critique me and torment me,
Till I’m nothing more than when my friends left me.
Isolationism,
Personal despotism.
Bathing in my own hair,
Watching my pain float around me,
It encircles me, constantly reminding me of my plight.
Is it being too cowardly,
To block myself from the light.
A hermit out on his own;
A lonely monarch who sits on his throne;
A beggar searching for a home;
All of these end up alone.
Bathing in my own hair,
Bound and gagged by my bleeding heart.
I thought I had found my place,
Now I’m stranded back at the start.
Far too late—to reach out now,
Everyone’s floating on their own, separate clouds,
While I remain on the ground,
Contemplating the pain I’ve found.
Yet, bitterly and ironically,
I crave the memories,
Because they remind me,
Of a time when I was happy.
I wash my body in the filth,
Recalling the euphoria.
Bathing in my own hair,
Scrubbing the fabric across my skin.
It burns, the soap is just like acid.
Maybe I don’t wish to be clean,
But to be seen,
And not abandoned repeatedly.
Basking in my own filth,
Remembering, painstakingly,
The roads that I’ve built.
Was that glance purely friendly?
Or was it a mask of contempt?
Memories, haunting me,
As I uncover the truth.
Bathing in my own hair,
Caressing me, tormenting me,
Reminding me of all I’ve lost,
As it flies into the air.
The water flows in and out,
My mood goes up and down.
Life’s rollercoaster is sickening,
My motion sickness, my undoing.
Entangled in the fibers,
Surrounded by liars,
That claimed to be my friend.
Isolationism,
Personal despotism,
All due to a bitter end.
Bathing in my own hair,
My failures cascading.
Basking in my self-worth,
Esteem breaking.
If I lost what little I had,
Perhaps, I’m just not meant to hold,
Friendship in my grasp.
From my experience, it doesn’t last.
The waters ripple,
My tears crippling me.
I wonder, would I have been happier,
If we were never to meet?
Bathing in my own hair,
Tying my wrists to my chest.
Vulnerable as my demons,
Take me to their lair.
They beat me, chastise me,
Critique me and torment me,
Till I’m nothing more than when my friends left me.
Isolationism,
Personal despotism.
Bathing in my own hair,
Watching my pain float around me,
It encircles me, constantly reminding me of my plight.
Is it being too cowardly,
To block myself from the light.
A hermit out on his own;
A lonely monarch who sits on his throne;
A beggar searching for a home;
All of these end up alone.
Bathing in my own hair,
Bound and gagged by my bleeding heart.
I thought I had found my place,
Now I’m stranded back at the start.
Far too late—to reach out now,
Everyone’s floating on their own, separate clouds,
While I remain on the ground,
Contemplating the pain I’ve found.
Yet, bitterly and ironically,
I crave the memories,
Because they remind me,
Of a time when I was happy.
I wash my body in the filth,
Recalling the euphoria.
Bathing in my own hair,
Scrubbing the fabric across my skin.
It burns, the soap is just like acid.
Maybe I don’t wish to be clean,
But to be seen,
And not abandoned repeatedly.
