My fingers keep repeating the same patterns over and over. I tell them I’m going to break them off one at a time if they don’t start speaking a language that I understand.
But pens and knives have funny effects on your motor functions and emotional stability when you hold them close.
I’m exorcising my heart and mind screaming down copper and fibre until the glass splinters and gets stuck in my eye. The problem with blindness is that the only thing you can see is what’s inside you.
Bleed out the demons with leech therapy. Watch them shrivel from the salt they poured in me, just so I’m forced to watch them die. Devil gauging my reactions as I step over their ghosts, like all the others who’ve left me behind.
I’ve been writing suicide notes read down to up. Carvings, engravings and pages stained with thoughts I can’t control and feelings that seek it over me.
All my escapes are measured in verticals.
(Source: mister-selfdestruct)
