Instead of outer destruction I learned how to mentally destroy myself. My lungs are clouded with marijuana and nicotine. I've stained my tongue with pills and tar, with a hint of my hateful words. My eyes gloss over because behind these brown eyes is a loathsome mind that lets whispered words ricochet back and forth until reaching my rear ducts. The nerces in my arms and thighs taught themselves to talk. They scream at me to open up so they can breathe. I wish I could breathe. My fingertips pulsate, begging to feel cold metal in their grasp, or pills melting into the form of my fingerprints. No one can see the scars I emotionally imprint on myself. And that's the point.
TRH
