How many times I betrayed myself for two pennies of loneliness?
The act is so old, and after time, poverty is the best teacher,
But there are evergrey examples that never change;
I am one of them, for ever strange.


Did Judas' tinkling silvers burn brands into my hands?
Or by any chance, I am himself, suffering through centuries,
Living my own betrayal against myself and fans;
Just as I sold the prophet for the centuries?


Is there any chance that this world were real, all the happenings?
I truly suffered through histories and left behind all blessings,
Tormented by living and imagining;
I forgot everything about me.

A tick and a click are rhyming up in a lame flame,
A thick stick of dry herb is the flame's aim,
That starts to burn and blatter in a burring pain,
Framed by a grey fog, hiding its disdain.


The mere pain of life urges this hateful act,
Looking for more pain pack by pack,
Claiming if there's no stop, I want more of that,
Waiting and feeling and waiting and feeling,
The sniff-by-sniff approaching Death.

Self-destruction is a way to ease pain,
But it's only feeding the rain,
you're causing.

You've got to step out of love,
Step into mud,
For what?

It's a habit that's hard to let go of,
But easier to not know of,
If you have it.

Just lean in for help,
It's on the way,
For you.

You can ease your pain as much as you want to.

It began as a silent whisper, this screaming in my brain.
I'm not worthy of love, happiness or a peaceful mind.
They crept in at my most joyous moments, just to permanently revoke that joy.

It began as a silent whisper, this screaming in my brain.
I couldn't escape my conscience, I thought it was always there for me.
The screams pierced my body, sent chills down my spine.

It began as a silent whisper, this screaming in my brain.
They were so vocal, I couldn't hear my own voice
begging them to stop.
I lost control over that which guided me.
I crashed into self-destruction and drowned in tears, fearful I'd never resurface.

It began as a silent whisper, this screaming in my brain.
The screaming that never ends.

writing you poems feels like relapsing into self-destruction

you —
kissing the scars on my skin;
such a delicate, carefully crafted
form of poetry, honey,
i will lay it down apollo's altar.

your lips.
my wrists.

again.
and again.

and for a moment there,
they don't look like
a bedlam of veins cut open.
for a moment there,
they look nowhere near
the metaphors
used in place of my self-destruction.

I’m the queen of self-destruction
watching each bridge go up in flames.
A basket case of pure dysfunction
torturing others with my childish games.

I’m the perfect psychological warfare
collecting broken hearts along the way.
A gorgeously horrifying nightmare
waiting for my next vulnerable prey.

I'm the monster you lured into light
after you showed me how worthless I am.
A poisonous snake ready to bite
leaving ****** ring fingers in the sand.

I’m the swinging wrecking ball
destroying everything I can see.
A broken mess on a spiraling fall
after loving you nearly killed me.

I beg you

reach out your tongue

and caress me with your words.

Soothe me with your hum.

I want to be enfolded in

the licks of

your love.

 

But your tongue sits

heavy in your mouth

stuck between

contempt and

apathy.

 

Only ever touching me with

it's brutal lashing.

I wish I didn't love

the sight of blood.