Playing With Knives

Peeling seven layers of skin,
To find whatever lies within,
Giving me a kind of strength,
To be pulled to such lengths,
Of hell, of fucking torture,
By tolerating each of your,
Deathtraps, and these lies,
To fuck me up on the inside,
And drive me to killing you,
In a dream like I always do.
Clawing in through my chest,
To make it all hurt me less,
And remove a beating heart,
Before it stops, or starts,
To drown in misery or guilt,
Of love, of an urge to kill,
Every infection I’ve ever,
Had to fight, had to severe,
To survive another minute,
Of pain that comes with it.
Gouging at both of my eyes,
So I don’t ever recognize,
What it is you can do to me,
I am spared if I can’t see,
The blood shed on the floor,
Wasn’t laying there before,
I entered this black room,
I have accepted as my tomb,
I allowed you to lock me in,
Without fear, without sin.
Digging a hole to my brain,
To suspend all of the pain,
For just one brief moment,
While leaving myself open,
For anything that arrives,
As I’m playing with knives,
Hoping one falls just right,
And gives me a renewed life,
As far as possible from you,
Like you and I begged me to.

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