La mort de sa reflexion

Every morning I wake up and I look at my reflection.

Slowly I bring my hand up to gently touch my lips

I see my mouth saying all these words then with a turn it spits out the saliva that I wont dare to swallow.

A slip of my tongue try's to clean the veins that are being cut out. They are filled with all the things I don't want. I don't need.

That includes you and all your murmured regrets of all these years that you put up with my lips and touch's and curses that were brought about because of the pills that caused me to spill in the toilet.

I try to open my eyes.
I beg to be able to breath without your help.
I violently clean the dirt off my filthy skin, its covered in words that feel damp and rotten, like a corpse to long in the sea.

Sadly I take the last remaining pill of the day and swallow it, chasing it with a gulp of bleach. I choke and feel my insides burning.

Trying to walk to the toilet I whimper and claw at my stomach, hoping the beasts ripping it apart would escape this time, they have failed many.

...I think I may of cheated because its still bleeding.....its like a severed halo around my ivy neck.

I feel as if the halo I have been forcing above my head as finally been pulled around my neck, dragging me to the floor.
Forcing me to crawl, grit my teeth........

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