I conjure up a reflection of myself, aways putting myself down.
Thinking about all the bonds built, and how they can easily tumble to the ground.

When I think I'm being missed.
A thought appears that brings me to tears.
I hope it's the truth to be soothed but the words get smeared as I feared.

Nothing I create survives.
I can only build the structure and fill it with lies.
No meaning in its existence.
Why did I even try?

The blood envisions a work of art across my arm.
It was mesmerizing to watch the droplets form together.
Mixed with the burning sensation of pure pleasure.

I can smile with blood dripping across my hand.
The joy creeps in temporarily creating bubbles.
Despair is the one feeling that doesn't wear off.

The pain felt when realizing it wasn't deep enough.
Night after night, still could not take my life.
Why am I such a coward!?

The pleasure dissipates
My bed is a cage.
My blankets are the bars.
My pillows are made of stone.
Up all night fighting off the shame.

The walls in my house are paper thin.
Noises travel to and from.
Explaining myself to myself.
Trying to justify my actions.
Paranoia doesn't rest.
It doesn't let you have any fun.

Random murmurs coming from the window.
Fragmented speech connected arbitrarily.
Hearing people sneering behind your back from a translation which doesn't exist.

What are you planning to do?

The words heard held much truth.
Guarded by my safe haven glossing over faults.
In the bath trying to relax.
The water glistened so invitingly.

One one one, I can hold my own.
We all know this world isn't fair.

The blood envisions a work of art across my arm.
It was mesmerizing to watch the droplets form together.
Mixed with the burning sensation of pure pleasure.

I can smile with blood dripping down my hand.
The joy creeps in temporarily creating bubbles.
Despair is the one feeling that doesn't wear off.

The pain felt when realizing it wasn't deep enough.
Night after night, still could not take my life.
Why am I such a coward!?

The pleasure dissipates
My bed is a cage.
My blankets are the bars.
My pillows are made of stone.
Up all night fighting off the shame.

Nothing I create survives.
I can only build the structure and fill it with lies.
No meaning in its existence.
Why did I even try?

Explaining myself to myself.
Trying to justify my actions.
Paranoia doesn't rest.
It doesn't let you have any fun.

I conjure up a reflection of myself.
Always putting myself down.
Thinking about all the bonds built, and how they can easily tumble to the ground.

The words heard held much truth.
What are you planning to do?

© Vanquisher