these visceral parts they flow through me

empty

hurry up, bleed out or complete me

how many times must I dream of escaping

the fibres that hold me in my own skin

how many times am I forced to grip a butcher knife

before I can feel something

The pharmacist said klonopin, lamictil, lithium, Xanax

The doctor said an antipsychotic will help me forget what the trauma said
(because it said don’t write this at all)

Nobody wants to hear you cry about the grief inside your bones

i thought one day it would all stop and maybe something will fill

me

why cant something just FILL me why do I want to pull apart my chest & just let

the poison inside me just leak everywhere

i can’t even drink enough to lose this emptiness in me.

it may be a crutch but It’s not even helping me walk

i have voices in my head and they whisper to me that

life would be better off dead

and then I know, that simply makes no sense

I wish I could rip apart all the fibres that hold

my skin together and try to find something inside me

That is real, that I can grab ahold, because I swear

if you peeled these layers away

inside me is nothing

and ever since they did that to me, it has been

the same.