Rituals.

I'm so numb inside, I can't feel
anything, whatever lives inside my
chest wants a way out and I can't
stand it, it's more alive than me.

B-a-n-g.

It has a voice, and an echo grips my
empty guts full volume, lets everyone else
taste it, feel it, this slow death is a mercy
compared to actually doing it, but you always

think

about

it.

I'm so tired, so many days, hours,
instances of nothingness that turned an
ugly grey while I wished for an end that has
yet to come, an answer to something that will

always

mean

nothing.

I have a wound beside my soul, right where
my faith used to be, and I'm so bitter, so
outraged to be deprived of something once more,
only self-hatred has filled the emptiness of a

love that

promised to

never leave.

I can't keep up with existing, a walking
corpse with a heart dangling from a rotten
brain, I'm alone in these doubts and
I can't stop shaking with this pain that

refuses

to

die.

Why has forgetting how many times they've
made me cry become so easy? My scattered mind
and trembling hands cling to what's left of the
dignity I was not born with, but that I found

somewhere

long

ago.

And I cling to the moon in spite of its bad
omen, I have never been friends with the
sun, the rain and clouds follow me around
town in a perpetually clumsy state of mind,

but

I'm

alright.

I have these rituals that I follow, less magick,
more sweat and nerves, like walking a set of
stairs (one, two, skip, stop) or saying 'hello',
I'm a little bit more human every time I do,

and

I'm

alive.