Defective. [MOVING TO KINDLE]

Defective

I take a swing at my soul
From my own lips, bleeding words are spoken
I punch myself till I bleed and bruise
Broken am I

I snatch my own joy
I don't feel deserving
I reflect toxicity instead
Self-loathing am I

At the edge I sit
But fear the deep end
Not wanting to hurt people I care about
I don't want a friend

Every second on this earth
I feel less and less like I matter
I often gaze out the window, thinking
"How better would it be if I were to shatter?

The idea of looking at my scars
makes me so hypertensive
So I keep hiding it to never think about them
Defensive am I

So many cracks and shards under my shirt
Hiding them is my primary directive
I introduce myself, but not the way I want to –
"Defective am I."