Starting Fresh

Sat here,

Led here.

All i do is cry here,

Die inside here

whilst the pain grows too much

To deal with,

To fight with -

It's frightening.

The lighting grows too bright.

Burns my eyes.

Says goodbye

to all the problems i should deal with.

The issues that i'm feeling -

they drive me crazy;

they drive me to insanity.

It builds.

It builds.

It builds until i have no room to

breathe. It drives me insane;

I have no way to leave.

A chorus of voices in my head

scream i should be dead,

and why should i not listen?

Why should i not take the knife,

and create battle scars?

Why should i not take the razor,

and produce beauty marks?

Because that's what they are to me.

They show my feelings;

They show my thoughts.

They show how i feel inside

when i cannot talk.

They hold my attraction,

my sick and twisted heart

finds comfort in the pain

without tearing me apart.

The rush.

The sting.

Red.

Relax.

Valleys of crimson run over my skin,

a pattern on a pale sheet.

It's better than my body on a railroad,

dead at your feet.

I bury myself in pain,

in denial and anger and confusion.

I refuse to deal with the rain

flooding contusions

that are my acne scars.

This is depression.

This is panic.

This is anxiety.

These are all my friends.

You get used to them.

You start to believe they mend

the problems you have.

In reality they make them worse.

They give you a curse.

They refuse all attempts to move on,

to pick another victim.

But when you think about it..

Are you a victim?

10 years.

10 years.

I've suffered for 10 years.

I pressure and pressure myself.

I hurt and hurt myself.

I make myself believe that i AM a victim.

That i have no control.

But i woke up.