I want to write but my thoughts ...I don't think I can.
I stare blankly at the paper gripping the pen with a shaky hand.

Everything I want to say, I want to scream.
Those words, my words that fucked up everything.

As though I watched it all in slow motion.
Something I knew would happen..
Like a darkly driven force, a witch's evil potion.

A sort of something that ripped through that everything. Why did I think I could want more? Why did I let myself fall for nothing but a dream?

Lost, self medicated by music and alcohol.
Vices I know pretty well,
ones I turn to numb it all.

But feelings, my feelings, they won't matter.
Knowingly I struggle to put this pen to the paper..
Distortion making it harder and harder.

Fine... is fine even really a feeling?
I feel every twisted emotion outside of fine..
Ones I once welcomed, 
that now slowly they kill me.