I want to turn my self-hatred into something physical,
I want to keep feeling like death because
I'm so used to these feelings of guilt and regret-
in an ever-changing world, it's my constant.
You say you despise change-
then how on earth will you be able to stay by my side
as my eyes change with the seasons?
This nicotine tastes like (self) destruction
and I can't get enough of it,
because without it I could put the devil to shame
with the way my mind bends
and seems to snap away from reality,
leaving me shaking and seemingly broken.
The razor caressing my skin
takes my blood and breath but it gives me life.
This old journal I found reads about how
the voices in my head were trying to **** me,
the epitome of my anxiety
tears drip down my face,
I'm getting more light-headed with every passing moment
and I can't help but smile
despite the fact that I'd given up on life
a while back.
Up, down, my moods change with the hour
and these thoughts devoured my sanity
a long time ago.
You say you despise change-
how on earth will you be able to stay by my side
as I change with the seasons?