Distorted self loathe falls drop by drop,
submerging vibrant kaleidoscopes engraved in eye sockets hollow.
Blinded, beautiful fractals dissolve into the bittersweet horizon
And I stand screaming to the past, future and present, “I am not ready”.
Rose coloured glasses have long since enlightened
the thin pale flesh that delicately stretches across my decaying framework.
I traded my adolescence for an apple of darkness not foreshadowing who would consume who.
My mind is accustomed to disorder, insanity being a childhood friend.
It has stood in the background of birthday photos, desperate for attention and my own self destruction.
It will never let me go, as I to it for we are in love.
Each year it urges the suggestion that
I am worthless , I am a burden, I am a failure.
Entropy tears apart intricate neural pathways,
manipulating the very thread that barely stitched me together.
It has taken many names,
cowardly hiding behind toxic masks.
Disguised as my mother, a box cutter, a diet that got out of hand
Always convincing me I am not good enough.