I'm addicted to
the blade slicing my
wounds, because being
masochistic makes
it sound like solitude,

I'd bare my rib cage
to impress you, displaying
the contracting pain
you never knew,

If only the piercing
echoes would silence
the reasons for my demons

Would the ability
to function finally
be obtained, or am
I always going to be
trapped in the chaos
that remained?