Can you still feel me? The real me?
Or are you still caught up in the fact that you have to unreel me,
to steal me, away from my own fortitude of lies.
And as you stroke my numbing hand down your soft, perfect thighs, can you not see that I’m dead behind the eyes?
Why do days blend into each other?
Why does my numb body just stand above her?
Passing opportunity after another, where i could feel love,
Why do I feel that it’s not ok, to feel this way?
And why is it such a struggle to make it through another day?
What is up with my godforsaken ways?
Is this all worth it? A silent poem to fall on deaf ears,
Whilst the ones who love me think I’ve been fine for the past few years?
No blood, no tears?
And whilst the cuts in my arm can be easily covered up,
My feelings and emotions are just locked up and shut,
It’s now that I feel nothing through pretending and lying,
This is a cry for help, I’m slowly dying.
I’m fine when I’m with you, but without I’m a storm of suicidal thougths,
I’m a suicidal gorm and my happiness is shop bought.
I feel ******* stupid and there’s nothing I can do,
Yes I hate myself and my life, but I still love you,
Your my beacon of light and you’ll never read these words,
Is there something wrong with me? Or am I just another product of our broken earth?
