Leg wounds shrink away, much like the fogs that used to rule my day. As the self inflicted claw marks leave behind their existence for clean pale flesh. My mind is a flood, a torrent of angry wind and often times these feelings make me bend. For every ounce of hurt, two of blame. I regress to imagery of cutting vein. Right now I want to go, I want to leave this behind, people who don’t understand, my fractured mind. My yearning my stubbornness my hunger my needs. I want to go so badly, tomorrow makes me feel weak. I’m sorry I’m ideating, I’m sorry I’m sad, I’m sorry I want to leave this world the pain gets me so bad. I should be bright for others, and for myself first. But I can’t beat a level so I’m thinking about a hearse. I’m thinking about a spent casing, I’m thinking about a cig, I’m thinking about wasting away and I’m thinking I’m a kid. I’m scared and cold in love with it the same. I’m scared of loving cold with only myself to blame. I hate this ghost of me, when no one else is around. She puppeteers my darkest fears and throws me onto the ground. Truthfully none of it’s rewarding so I kinda wanna quit. None of it is working, Not one bit. I feel selfish thinking and selfish dreaming and my life has gome too long. In all hopes I may return for anotjer somg.