I try to piece myself together
but solemn memories slip through inept fingers
objects trigger a response just out of reach
always desiring the intangible
so why am I still surprised to fail?
hyperalgesia
bed sheets against skin
another barricade
another excuse to hide
another night counting seconds
with clenched fists concealing regrets
and force fed 'it's not your faults'
but I know it is
staring at the same ceiling from four years ago
so nostalgic, romanticizing depression
repeating the words: "I'm piss. I'm shit. I'm less than nothing."
the only thing I'm certain of is I'm uncertain of everything
so secure in my insecurities
blasé to the sunrise and pigments in eyes that once warmed my heart
accustom to frosty breath, awkward smiles and apathetic last words
time transforms friends into lovers into acquaintances into strangers
and I forget my own name waiting on storms that never passed
so many wasted nights drawing interstates over veins that led to nowhere
panic attacks bringing laughter, broken mirrors and holes in the wall
objects trigger a response just out of reach
but here I am with my arms stretched out, still reaching

though this world is depressing and unbearable
I cannot simply fly away for I am not a bird

I spent endless years sculpting wings from feathers and wax
but as with Icarus they melted away at the first sign of light
so I retreat to the dark, awaiting redemption
though I'm not an angel
I'm quite the contrary
death still terrifies me
I'm broken, I'm weary
maybe one day I'll find solace in seclusion
but for now I'm just struggling to carry on despite this disease

I've been peeling off my flesh in my sleep
biting through my tongue when I speak
clawing at my eyes, ripping out my own heart
I've been grinding down my teeth while I dream
licking the shine off blades when I scream
severing my throat, coughing up my own lungs
I've been picking at my brain in my sleep
downing chloroform when I speak
sawing off my nails, throwing up my own blood
I've been sanding down my bones while I dream
chewing shards of glass when I scream
pulling out my spine, gnawing at own arms

out of boredom
depression
disgust
desperation
out of anxiety
obsession
isolation
clichés

[the thread's been spun, measured and cut]
I'm a ghost feasting on remains no one wants
[the thread's been spun, measured and cut]
I'm a phantom whispering through the walls

the stench of my own rotting corpse is lulling me to sleep