even the devils wouldn’t dare touch you

you are a slave to your desires, the kind that makes you want to shrivel up and scream. you want so many things, you want to be so many things, but there’s a truth that’s so hard out there. you can’t be all of these things. it’s engraved upon your skin, the blood that runs through your blue veins.

barely breathing, you tell the world that you’re going to rise to the very top although you know that this isn’t true. your worth has been defined – and defined by yourself too.

you don’t want everything to end with one stupid decision, you say, and in the same breath, you fall to your knees in the face of an open door. do you want to stay or do you want to go? do you want to believe or do you want to run?

it’s your indecisiveness that will be the root of your descent.

and then you laugh and laugh and laugh, because you’re already at the very bottom. you’ve scraped your elbows from falling and crawling so many times the scars don’t faze you anymore. the taste of soil lingers on your tongue.

since when does it matter how much you want? greed manifests in your heart, and sometimes you wonder if it’s even there: the green is overwhelmed by the darkness of your perspective.

since when does it matter how much you want? it’s human nature to take and you have to be naive to think that you’ll be an exception. you’re no better than anyone else: that’s why you’re still lagging behind.

they don’t want you. you don’t want you.

but who would want to, when your identity is lost in the midst of trying to be an impersonation? you are defined by your fluidity between an almost okay and a forgotten fake, except you favor towards the latter, and that sets you down.

these days, you look into a mirror and there’s no reflection staring back at you. you are empty, you exist in this borrowed space and you haven’t been paying rent. your name is barely uttered by even the closest people around you.

faceless, boneless, bloodless.

you want, but since when did that mean anything?



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