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I picked it up. |
|
I held it. |
|
I threw it away. |
|
I strayed. |
|
By far one of the dumbest things |
|
I've done to myself. |
|
No embracement of the truth, it's gone. |
|
Progress unwound. |
|
Ideals shut down. |
|
Pin it on me. |
|
Take me away. |
|
I'm guilty as charged. |
|
You can call out. |
|
This is my forceful vice struggling to gain some life. |
|
Sometimes when you live with something for so long you can't break it, can't put it down, can't walk away. |
|
Beauty in my mind defined by images shot into my mind. |
|
Brain scan. |
|
Observe the man |
|
I am. Look at my hands. |
|
I'm trembling at the mistakes |
|
I live. One day |
|
I'm awake. |
|
The next day |
|
I'm dead. |
|
This is not real. |
|
This I know. |
|
But it calls on me. |
|
How does this work? |
|
It's so fucking twisted. |
|
It takes me away. |
|
It sweeps me off my feet. |
|
I know how this goes. |
|
I've dealt with this before. |
|
Day one, liquefy my life. |
|
Take my insides out. |
|
Hang them on a wall. |
|
The beauty. |
|
Self-security works itself into a hole. |
|
But I can feel the cold from here. |
|
And I know it's cold. |
|
Blisters ravaged my life. |
|
The life that |
|
I claimed back. |
|
Turned it around. |
