THC Meets Poetry

Nonsense

What am I supposed to do whenever I feel like I want to hurt myself? Outstretched hands may surround me, but at the same time, I feel alone, as though it's just me and there's nobody else.

Maybe it's just that I'm on my period, and all of these hormones are making me delirious. Yet I'm craving the burning of my skin, and I can't seem to tell if I'm hormonal or serious.

I'm tired and furious. Are you hearing this? Maybe I'm just crazy. A dumb Gen Z who's unmotivated and lazy. I'm sober and still spacey. Pretending that the ptsd isn't there and doesn't phase me.

The voices are louder than ever before. Banging so loud that it's becoming so fucking hard to ignore. How long can I hold onto my self-control before I don't have the strength to fight it anymore?

I try to meditate, but I can't fucking concentrate. I try taking a shower and end up standing under the hot water for hours. My positivity is beginning to run sour.

Maybe I just need meds, and then I'll no longer feel like spending my days in bed. Maybe I'm just being over-dramatic, and all of the madness is only in my head.

Perhaps pain may dissolve with age. For all I know, by the time I reach twenty-five, I'll lose all this resentment and rage. In the meantime, I think it'd be in my best interest to get off the pity party stage. Start a new chapter. Turn to the next page. It isn't anyone's responsibility but my own to break me out of this mental cage.

At this point, I don't even know what I'm talking about. I'm just a fool spewing nonsense out of his mouth.