thousands of lost souls screaming at the dark
that lives inside their minds
and wishing someone could draw them out
of their lonely heads and this broken time
even the simplest action becomes an ordeal
a herculean task to those who are
living perpetually in fear of all
the things they see and everything they are
if you have never lost your senses
to sheer paralysis over food, or going out
you cannot understand how terrifying
life can be, or how it drags so many down
we live in the depths, an exclusive hades
this circle of hell exists on earth
heaven and stars become a rich pipedream
we lose all idea of love and elusive self worth
an illness so isolated, this disease
god I wish something was wrong with my body
that could show what makes me so insane
instead of a perfectionist need to be lovely
an innate detachment from others
the people who know how to exist
in happiness, who dream of real things
who when they die will truly be missed
I am not here, not real, I wish I was
not a shadow girl, the ghost at the bar
lost in a lonely heart and finding salvation
wielding a blade and creating ugly scars
making pain replace love and true feeling
so that everything translates to fat
and I can't possibly enjoy anything
and open up, I'll never be like that
withdrawal and dissolution reigns until
this girl gets help, gets locked up
gets shown all the ways in which she is sick
god, I wish I had never grown up
© Tara India.
Oct 13, 2013
Oct 13, 2013 at 9:19 PM UTC
thousands of lost souls screaming at the dark
that lives inside their minds
and wishing someone could draw them out
of their lonely heads and this broken time
even the simplest action becomes an ordeal
a herculean task to those who are
living perpetually in fear of all
the things they see and everything they are
if you have never lost your senses
to sheer paralysis over food, or going out
you cannot understand how terrifying
life can be, or how it drags so many down
we live in the depths, an exclusive hades
this circle of hell exists on earth
heaven and stars become a rich pipedream
we lose all idea of love and elusive self worth
an illness so isolated, this disease
god I wish something was wrong with my body
that could show what makes me so insane
instead of a perfectionist need to be lovely
an innate detachment from others
the people who know how to exist
in happiness, who dream of real things
who when they die will truly be missed
I am not here, not real, I wish I was
not a shadow girl, the ghost at the bar
lost in a lonely heart and finding salvation
wielding a blade and creating ugly scars
making pain replace love and true feeling
so that everything translates to fat
and I can't possibly enjoy anything
and open up, I'll never be like that
withdrawal and dissolution reigns until
this girl gets help, gets locked up
gets shown all the ways in which she is sick
god, I wish I had never grown up
© Tara India.
I wrote this while I was drunk the other night: why am I so much more honest in the darkness while intoxicated?
