glue.
I'm tired of thinking.

I hate that thoughts of something other than this world-

Keep my mind held together like glue.

While the agression eats away like acid.

And pain makes more sense when you put pen to paper.

That control can give me freedom.

That my self-hate is a basic comfort.

I hear everyone around me-

All screaming over each other so their suffering can be heard.

Still, my silence unwavers.

I see everything.

All the horrors of the world and I bear mind to it all.

Violence in a stark black and white.

But in the hold of that lonely room-

There is nothing but red.

If only you could seel me with glue.

It takes thirty days to create a habit.

And years later-

I don't even wince anymore...