Sometimes I feel as if the only way to feel whole,
is to strip the restless flesh from my bones.
Something crawls beneath my skin,
inviting pain and terror to settle in.
No obvious cause, no obvious solution,
only hopeless vulnerability
and the urge to scream myself inside out.
Rewarding pain, mine or anyone's,
misery is a friend of mine.
A shadow of agony clouds my mind,
making light too hard to find.
I drown in a pool of my own self-pity,
sickeningly, I almost enjoy the sensation.
Who knew suffocation could be a welcome thing,
and panic a welcome distraction?
Where is the candle to fight the dark?
Will there be a match to light it?
When I find it?
Would I use one if there was?
Nothing will ever be what I imagined,
So nothing will ever be good enough.
I would rather fall to my death in this pit of despair
than allow someone to hold my hand
only to let go.
I walk a path of voluntary darkness,
rather than be blinded by manufactured light.
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