Tangled, withered limbs surround these arteries
Pulsing through the fissures left by time
A delayed strangulation over centuries
Has masked away this cancerous hive
I find my comfort in craving
The emptiness beyond tongues
The light consumed young
And I sate my lusts watching
The dust cave your eyes
Draped in your warm lies
The air too heavy to breathe
Suffocation and fever retreats
Sedation, self-destruction, blister blaze
Wasting in the dark of your soul’s gaze
We share these miserable chokes
We share these comforts alone
1:12am, April 25th 2014
An attempt to describe depressive episodes. The self-destructive urges, physical and mental alterations, the feeling of absolute isolation.
I don't think people who've never felt suicidal would ever understand, which is why I don't talk to anyone about this. When mentioning I felt like I had no purpose, one friend said if you had no purpose you might as well **** yourself, and another said I'd be fine.
F*ck them.
