A poem describing how I look at myself on the inside sometimes.
Empty echoes, maybe they were memories
burying themselves alive…
tragedy and comedy a box full of sharp ended objects…lies…
piercing noises bleeding my mind…
closing in, devouring the flesh from the
inside…
choke away yesterdays awkward…
lunacy? hard to say…
what then of love for self?
night and day…chaos……
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