THE KETTLE SHAKES AND BOILS OVER. THIS WILL MARK THE END FOR ME

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sobriety is like a prison most times
when sleep deprived it is akin to hell
nothing more evil and scheming than solids
i feel the pain killers and caffeine run right through me

and my eyelids become magnets hopelessly in love
my mouth again is down turned with sorrow
throat clogged with gunk and flesh and bread
skin glossed over with cold sweat

i step out into the freezing air
chest bare and ribcage showing proudly
i spend years locked up and hung out to dry
with the key sewn into the deepest place of my spine

my mug shatters over the floor and stains a part of me
the strings attached to the ceiling are clipped
my knees are littered in tears of acceptance
the door is opened silently and my hands spin the webs

ghosts who sang to me yesterday are gone
and the rising sun shines over my head
the grass is wet and my boots are soaked through
morning dew clouds over me and my body is left empty for good

my darkest mindWo Geschichten leben. Entdecke jetzt