Picking at my scabs until the blood begins to pour
All these things I tell myself to keep from picking more
But I can't even stop my chronic compulsions
To tear apart all my horrific revulsion's
I'm sick of being the one that's always gotta stay strong
Weary and tired of hiding the truth of what's going on
Inside my brain
Inside my mind
I am not one of your kind
Nothing I say will express my inner workings
There's no sentences, paragraphs or eloquent clever wording
Not a word to explain the things I want to say
Yet I'm thinking endlessly of it every ******* day
Go **** yourself you filthy *****
You think I only want your ****
I've got deeper things to bide my empty wasted time
Then always ******* and ******* at the drop of a dime
You'll never know the reasons why I cry alone
Or that I cry at all when I'm alone at home
Because I know you'll never really give a ****
But that just seems to be my bad luck
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 6:23 PM UTC
Picking at my scabs until the blood begins to pour
All these things I tell myself to keep from picking more
But I can't even stop my chronic compulsions
To tear apart all my horrific revulsion's
I'm sick of being the one that's always gotta stay strong
Weary and tired of hiding the truth of what's going on
Inside my brain
Inside my mind
I am not one of your kind
Nothing I say will express my inner workings
There's no sentences, paragraphs or eloquent clever wording
Not a word to explain the things I want to say
Yet I'm thinking endlessly of it every ******* day
Go **** yourself you filthy *****
You think I only want your ****
I've got deeper things to bide my empty wasted time
Then always ******* and ******* at the drop of a dime
You'll never know the reasons why I cry alone
Or that I cry at all when I'm alone at home
Because I know you'll never really give a ****
But that just seems to be my bad luck
Another old piece of writing.
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