My head feels thick and fuzzy
Like a hairbow after being pulled out of a messy bun

My mania is my own
When I smile, I feel weak
When I'm happy, I'm a fucking mess

My hands shake and I feel like I'm on a giant speaker
The mental illnesses flowing through me to the beat of my death

My eyes hurt
They feel like raw, cold eggs
One moment of too much intensity and crack

I'm yolk on the floor
Spilling into the crevaces of the hardwood
Among the dirt and filth, I feel whole

To be alive and know it would be too easy
To be dead and feel alive would be truth.
My truth drips through my teeth as the reality of my state stains the rims of my mouth.

I'm a liar
I'm a million different people at once
I love you
I hate you
I want to fuck your brains out and cum in your mouth

My shoulders hurt
They have been carrying my dread for years
And I'm tired
My body is caving in like a stack of cards
Folding is what I'm best at

Yesterday I thought about dying
Not in a, grab a gun and blow off my head way, but a hey, is that peace?
If my brain splattered all over the yellow daffodils, would it make the coronor want McDonald's?
Would the asshole in the huge truck stop as my funeral procession went by?

Living is dying, for me.
I'm dying.

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