It’s Killing Me-Poem

There are things I try to feed,

Darkness that my mind doesn’t need

Choke it out til I am dying

But in vain, still I keep trying

Of pain I’ve had first taste

Too many mistakes that I try to erase

Eventually the paper wears down and breaks

Can’t count how many times I do it

But I’m getting close to breaking through.

Might be older but not too much wiser

What’s the point of chasing things

When it just makes me tired?

Doesn’t matter how much good I might be

Doesn’t balance out the evil that’s still inside me.

Still question why I exist

It’s the pain that makes me sick

It’s the dark to which I’m an addict

Does that make me a masochist?

I don’t know, just makes me think.

It’s myself that I’m killing