on cravings, pretending and slow death.

you know how i crave for you
yet you don't give a damn
as i pick my pace to follow
yet you don't seem to bother

"hey! your walking too fast"
i tried screaming for you to stop
yet you don't listen
you never did
maybe you never will.

i have stopped from following now
for i fell on the ground, faced down
i'm all bruised up and bleeding
nobody's fault to blame but my own

-------

look what it did to you
i hope you are happy now
with all the shit that has happened
should i be so sorry now?

shall i ask myself if i am wanted
or am i just once again needed
is it part of a schemed plan
that you will leave once you are done

was it all worth it
i just feel the need to ask
but i think it doesn't matter
for i'll hide behind another mask

---------------

i stand between boundaries
my hands were raised up high
on one hand i hold a pen
a knife on the other


torn between stabbing myself
with any of the two things that i hold
to the part of me that is left
of what remains or so they told


i pushed the one i hold on my right hand
straight to the core of what hurts the most
followed by the one that i hold on my left
with every thrust the wounds immediately closed

i think i'm gonna die

well almost.