Categories > Original > Poetry
My insides are tearing me up, wearing me down. I'm allergic to the bullshit lies coursing through my bloodstream. My face is tingling, battling my self-conscious with 100 degrees and back up orifices. I cannot do this, no, I don't want to do this. I don't have the energy to fight away this disease. I don't have the energy to fight for anything. I'm sick in more ways than one, there are more bullets than colors in the barrel of this gun. The barrel of this gun is emptying in my head, killing myself with these thoughts. Virus, virus, go away, but I know that'll you'll just be back another day. I'm frustrated, filled to the brim with worthless coping mechanisms. Every night turns into morning, midnight, one, one thirty, two. Nothing helps, my apathy drains me from all judgement. Maybe you should, no. No. I can't take another two minutes of empty words, I can't take another hour of going unheard. I need an escape. Nothing's real enough, scars are too permanent, the eggshells surrounding my brain are crashing down like the old bricks of castle walls. I cannot feel for you, I can barely hold on to myself. I cannot be there for you when I'm not even attending the office meetings in my head. My body has given up on me, but so has the rest of my being. There is no living, not like this; there is no breathing when you're clogged up with self pity.
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