Like a moth to a flame;

Like a gun drawn to your head,

Point-blank range,

Leaving you with tears streaming down your face

As you think about everything you regret.

I live in regret.

Pain consumes me,

And it calms me,

And it makes me feel

Like there’s something in this world to feel.

I don’t like not feeling;

I’m addicted to the bittersweet, nauseous feeling of dread.

I want something physical,

Something emotional,

Something real.

I like to read about people’s lives

Because I don’t want to think about mine.

I like to hear about other people’s problems

Because I like to know that I am not alone.

Listen to my beating heart.

It’s all I have left in this life.

Sometimes I find myself wondering

Whether or not I am real,

Whether I’m alive,

Or if this is just one great part

In a tragic play.

Because no one’s bothered to tell me why

We hate each other so much.

Look at these self-inflicted wounds,

These self-put downs,

This ludicrous idea that I actually know what I’m talking about.

Because I’m just a silly painted up doll.

I don’t know what I’m talking about.

It’s this anger that sets me apart in this world

And anger that keeps me alone.

Follow the pretentious pattern,

Cut it out

And piece it together;

I have no idea how to sew.