; lyht leaves the eyes—expelled by a relentless laesr of poignant realisation that reality is but absurdism x impossibility.

Monday, 17 February 2014

one day

ill beat this thing

oh mind why won't you behave
i hate it when you're like this

it's been about 6 (7?) long years, a temperamental sequence of starting and stopping and being. i'm so tired of waking up with a swollen face, eyes swollen shut. i guess as much as there are people around me, the most malicious of murmurs come from within, seeping through the crevices of muscle and memory.

every day i ask myself why. was i born like this? how did this start? where was my preface?

why didn't anyone tell me that id be stuck at close to a decade of internalised hell..

i hate myself. everything. could use a bit of saving right about now.

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