You’ll never know…

how it feels like to have a little bit of you die, each time it happens.
Until the wounds have cut so repeatedly
and so thoroughly
that the flesh feels completely numb –
devoid of shame, regret, or disappointment.
Until it all just feels so disturbingly comforting.
Yet, the frustration never ever goes away.

What’s here yesterday will still be here tomorrow,
and the day after,
and the day after,
and the day after,
and the day after…
until someone makes it go away.

You never get that.
I never felt you did anyway.

For the millionth time, I ask myself
“Why ever the fuck do I even bother anymore?”

Only to hear my own voice resonating
“Because I need to.”

But you’ll never know what that feels like.

My life…
it’s such a joke.

I wish I could drink til I puked.
All the sad stuff into the sewage.
I wish.

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