I ******* hate myself
and I mean that in the nicest way.
I am the only one who loves myself
with a fiery burning rage.
But who also has the desire
to slit open the scars
I have left for myself.

It's like I'm my own back stabbing
***** of a best friend-
when all the world is sinking in
on these tainted shoulders
I'm the one who picks myself back up
because who else would?

I am as bipolar as the weather is
where I live and if you lived here
you'd think that was funny
but I find it kind of sad
that when the weather turns gray
and the sun is too shy to show it's beauty
that's the time I fall to my knees
and shout "no one loves me"
because maybe the sun is my security.
Or maybe my depression is seasonal,
either way I am one with mother nature
because she may be unpredictable
but you admire that about her
no matter how much **** we put her through
and ******* we feed her,
she's still there to make us cautious
that we will be struck by her lightening.

One day when my palms are sweaty
and my knees are weak
and theres nothing I can do to let go
of the bottle that is clenched to my chest
I will remember that I love myself best
and if I succumb to my own abuse
that makes me weak and frail
and kind of fickle if you think about it.

My mind is an escape and a prison,
kinda like going on vacation
where there's a construction site
right next door to your hotel
but you don't mind because
the beach is in walking distance.

I guess it's kind of hard to explain
where I come from and where my head
is currently at but I guess all I can say is-
There is gold at the end of the rainbow
but everyone's *** looks a little different.