When I use to cut myself.
It was for the sole purpose to feel something, to dig out that empty feeling. To stop feeling so hollow I had to peel back my skin to make sure I actually wasn't. It was the only way I could move, to stop depression form pinning me down.
It felt like I was slowly losing my mind
Now I've long since stopped looking at a razor with a watering mouth.
Now I have a new way of torturing myself that I've been using for years.
Its confusing to explain so I'll give some examples.
Number of people I can love that will never love me back.
4
Length of time I can go loving someone and pretend they don't exist.
4 days
Number of days I've gone without sleep.
4
My lucky number is now 4.
Once I learnt that in Chinese the number 4 is considered unlucky because its homophonous with the word "death", I couldn't help but laugh.
Charles Bukowski once said, "Find what you love and let it kill you."
Maybe that's why its was so hard to love myself. To build a temple to worship myself, just to see it go up in flames, and I'm the one with the matches.
I wonder what would I do If I lost my mind. Would I set out on a man hunt and search every dusty nook and corner in my brain or would I let it rot in whatever creaves it choose so it could finally feel at home in this cold wasteland.
I know this isn't healthy. I know there are people I can talk to, therapists I can pay, different ways to escape. But I've made my bed on burning coals. One day I'll fix this, but I still have a few mother fuckers to prove wrong.
Starting with myself.
YOU ARE READING
A Boy And His Box
PoetryHey! This is my first time doing something like this so sorry if I suck. This is going to be a book mostly filled with poems I write. I'm going to do other things with later ,so of you don't like poetry stick around for some adventures. This book is...
