Silverfish

Should I Be Better?

Living in this violent cycle–like a consuming black hole.

Everything here is so unbearable, so debauched.

Another something happens and then of course directly following, something else happens after that.

I can't stand up right against this relentless current anymore. The tide rips and thrashes against my pale skin, leaving red burns and blisters.

I have that bloody evidence of this cycle littered across either of my ankles. A red hand firmly wrapping around each of them, so opposed, yet they seem to belong.

I've always felt this way, I guess; constantly tormented by my very own design, a fiery doubt that I gladly feed every night.

But I am a part of this ambition. And regardless of my desperate attempts I'm afraid I will never feel that blissful release.