Isn't it funny how
you need to talk?
But you can't?
You won't?

You're telling yourself
that you can stop
if you wanted to.
But you don't.

Cutting is okay.
So is drinking
and drugs
and partying.

All of it is because
I'm trying to get you
out of my
head.

You're dead.
But you're not gone.
Never gone.
Never.

You're a ghost
living in my mind.
Forever in my mind.
Haunting me.

I know you're not real.
You're just a ghost.
A figment of my imagination.
But you're so real.

I don't need to talk.
I need to die.
Maybe a few more cuts.
What's the harm?

Just slicing and dicing
at the body you
once
held.

But you're gone.
Dead.
It's my body again.
And this is what I love.