old habits die hard; sometimes, they only attempt their deaths

it was never like this before
this feeling
this absolute need to prove everyone wrong
(this need to destroy myself)

i lasted weeks before i resorted to this
my last resort
my absolute lust for it took over
(a lust for mutilation created by hate of self)

no one understands my needs, my fears
i need this almost as much as food, water, air, love, him
it's like a precious resource to me
(but like petroleum it's horrible for my environment)

i couldn't go any longer without it
i couldn't stand the curiosity
i needed it.
(want, need; same thing)

i can't stop myself
give a pyromaniac a book of matches, a candle, and some
metal – the product will scare you to death
(and just might kill the pyro)

times have changed
but old habits die hard
sometimes, never die at all

a/n: I'm sorry...