The physical pain hurts less than the pain in my chest. Emotional pain is recorded as physical, but your body cannot repair it, so it continues to pulse.
Believe me, I would rip my lungs out if it was the cries that resonate between my ribs or slow the course of my heart as it tries to escape
I always preferred physical pain because I can bear it
Check it
If something is going to hurt you, you might as well decide what and where
Plus, it gives your mind something tactile to focus on.
Hungry touch
Powered by broken nails and bent paper clips
Either way, tear and tear
Same place, so they only ask once
If they ask at all.
I’m starting to pull my hair out because four years is a long time to just give up on an outing
but if I don’t break the skin it doesn’t count, right?
So the pen scratches my raw skin, covering the scars that aren’t quite half a decade old
And I don’t really hurt myself so I must have a handle on it
Addiction takes many forms.
There is no bottle to throw here, nowhere to throw up my sins
They say there is strength to admit weakness, but they don’t mention the quick sewer trip that follows when your tears mix with the blood flowing through your veins
A friend you haven’t seen for so long that you forget what she looks like but you remember her beautiful
She stops gnawing. Focuses at a single point on a stained long wrist. Give yourself a task to accomplish. A mess to create and clean up. She’s your oldest friend and you haven’t been talking for so long, the pink glasses that thicken over time make you miss
It has been years since it crossed your mind and you feel almost guilty for having left it neglected, you have forgotten the troubles it caused in the first place
We personify our demons in order to remove them from ourselves but all it does is provide us with someone to turn to,
I could never love something that is me, but I miss it in the way I imagine love. Because she’s not me and that gives me permission to give her the control I felt when she was there
I lack the strength of a secret, that of deceiving death.
I haven’t felt this for so long that my memory has fled from the weakness that I was
And yet, I have never felt this before, because each episode is different. I thought she was gone for good.
That I could go on with my life and replace it with others
With something real, maybe someone
But she is back, almost a comfort. But I do not give in. Not yet.
Instead, I’m sitting here in the semi-darkness of a reading lamp too far in the room to bother turning it off
Even the four steps it would take to get there are an insurmountable distance
Like the distance I made between myself and the woman I was yesterday.
All of this progress has disappeared. All this time, a waste. Then I remember, all these memories mean nothing.

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