I find myself itching myself raw, though I can't quite tell why. Is it because the very thought of you makes my skin crawl, or maybe I'm just that desperate to try peel away my flesh for – purity? Salvation? Satisfaction? No matter what the reason is, the result is the same: red lines tracing their parallel paths across my skin. While I disgust myself, I also wish I'd drag my nails across my face leaving marks everyone will have to see; someone would have to help me then, right?
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Lachrymose
PoetryLachrymose /ˈlakrɪməʊs,ˈlakrɪməʊz/ adjective tearful or given to weeping. A collection of amateur prose and poetry illustrating the inner turmoil. Mainly a dumping ground for loose thoughts and ideas to be interpreted in whatever manner.
