fingers bleeding
head pounding
ringing in my ears that I can't stop
a fresh cut on my thigh is screaming
"why do you do this to yourself.."
this masochistic mess I've made
of burned out hopes, twisted dreams
stares back at me, smirking,
cackling its fucked up pleasure
at my imminent demise.
I rub my eyes with fury
throw my fists into the wall and scream
as dusty tears of disappointment fall,
reflections of my broken soul.
I crumple into wrinkled folds
and pull at something 'til it bleeds
just for proof of life.
Sometimes I wonder
who could love a thing like this.
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