Copyright, Ruth

I count the numbers as they appear to me,
One after the other blending into despair,
Aged without dignity,
And failed without effort,
Mind sticking to what came before.

Whole days building tents and dens,
Now whole nights filled with worry,
Sleep doesn’t come and tears explode,
This God like existence so sadistic.

When I awake in the early hours singing songs of hate,
I stare into the eyes of my weakness,
Until it pounces and pulls me apart,
I’ve been tearing at myself, myself.

There is no comfort in being alone,
No reassurance in looking in the mirror,
Just a look of disgust as they shudder away,
Pointing the finger at the worthless one.

This paranoia spawned from self denial,
Handed out the blades to end this life,
Have a drink and dissapear into smiles,
Take mt scars and rearrange my blood.

A knife in the back tells me the truth,
trust no one and everyine at once,
Stoke the face adored by all and no body,
Collapse in doubt and sigh into forever.


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