Better Like This
Written September 4, 2011
traded the discipline for blood: used to be a consequence of my missteps and shortcomings: a last resort, a punishment of sorts. but god, was it better. and dammit, did i realize that i could get this release without compromising my intellectual and physical strength. oh god, is it better. you know, and i'm not hiding it. i'm taking no pains to hide it. still, no words, no questions; i guess a smile covers everything. oh god, is it better? that i take this edge against my skin, needing to watch the crimson droplets seep slowly through these slits... for any reason now? for failure. or anxiety. anger. loneliness. self-hatred. or even just when i'm feeling too goddamn happy? oh god, it can't be better. 'cause now i need the feeling of metal tucked safely away, always on my person... just in case. now no pain is great enough to replace my mind's maelstrom. nowhere is unclean enough to reflect the shitty soul i am. oh god, i said i'm better, but this can't be better; i can't be better like this.