You'd berate yourself
everyday.
You're selfish.
You're incompetent.
You're ugly.
You'd hurt yourself
everyday.
You'd cut.
You'd scratch.
You'd burn.
You'd consider killing yourself
everyday.
But now
You can compliment yourself
almost everyday.
You're caring.
You're resilient.
You're sexy.
You haven't hurt yourself
in 47 days.
You hid the knives.
You shortened your nails.
You blew out all the candles.
You haven't wished for death
in weeks.
But
Isn't death easier
than living?
Doesn't death end
everything?
Would you take it
if it was offered to you?
Have you really improved
if the answer is still
"Yes?"
YOU ARE READING
Poems of a Neurotic Insomniac
PoetryLet's see how this goes. It's time for this sleep-deprived, emotionally-unstable creature to write some shit down.
