Poem #187

A long time ago I lived on the run
from life, truth, reality and everything that hurt.
In a certain point my head banged against
a wall and the path I ran on suddenly disappeared.

The walls are closing up on me, everything I have they’re
crushing. It’s kind of hard to breathe in this fog of memories.

I was never the one to stand still and let the world
cave in around me so I did the worst possible thing.
I’ve killed. I’ve killed my touch with reality, my bond
with family, I’ve killed every single piece of me that was
too big of a danger for my sanity.

I stitched up every wound, I’ve turned every source
of pain into lyrics and quotes but the same words with
which I let go are coming from other people’s mouths and
minds and I can’t stop them from flowing my way.

The words always stay and they get engraved into my brain.
I’ll put up my mask and pretend they’re not there until I break
down again. Then I’ll just keep on being a murderer and I
won’t stop until I do the biggest crime. I’m not stopping until
I kill every last piece of humanity in me.

Numbness is my goal and it justifies all means. I’ll be a killer
until I manage to stand against anything

One thought on “Poem #187

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