Funny the older I get the more I find myself changing
The ways I hurt myself always change, different pains. Same vices

As appealing as seeing my blood make those strange designs as they drip down my arms sounds.
It’s becoming harder to hide the wounds.

Maybe it’s the self doubt? Challenging myself on the most minor choices. Eating away at me.

Becoming obsessive over friends, strangers, anyone really.
Knowing I’m not their problem.

Or maybe it’s the drugs, the same ones that keep my brain at bay are the ones that make the grey matter rot,

it’s all about moderation, and tonight I have none.

I’m on a drive,
I’m smoking a cigarette
I’m hearing very little
I’m feeling even less
Wonder if I’ll see the engine stop, I wonder if these keys will enter my pockets again.

I wonder if the lights fade out or if it’s a cut to black

New weapons.
Same vices.
Good night.