The wound doesn't hurt anymore
The cut no longer bleeds
And I'm starting to worry
Well, I usually lose my knife
And I begin to doubt my sensitivity
I'm very screwed
And I feel so lost
In a sea of meaningless memories
Writing things that I don't even understand
But no one must know what may be in my mind
In my art it is evident
Everything that goes through my mind
How much it hurts
How much it overwhelms me
How much it costs me to accept my present
But so many memories in such a short time
It is a very horrible pain that only I understand
Since I'm living it
I'm leaving it
And I am left with the uncertainty that everything is going to hell
And that's just talking about how my arm doesn't hurt anymore.
I don't want to say that suicide I have considered
I won't talk about what my drawings are about.
But I can't do anything about it
The dysphoria, the anguish, the torment is eating away at me
How I long to cut my wrists
See the red poison running down my arms
To then be cared for and feel loved
I have to hurt myself to feel affection
But at the same time I want to be ignored
I would like to never be seen, to stop being questioned
I hate seeing them cry and asking me my reasons.
I won't bother explaining it, I know you won't bother understanding it.
Forgive me mother for what the war did to my body
You should have raised a girl, I should have been a better son.
But the anxiety of my insensitivity kills me
And there are horrible things I've done with this gun
I feel like there's nothing they can do with my soul
Stained with disgusting fluids called self-hatred
I can't talk anymore, I never knew how
Eternally trapped in oblivion
I want to see that I am able to find a way
Give my existence a meaning
Feel something and know that I'm still alive.
-Burn!
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