wake up, eat, write, sleep, repeat

​

It's this prehistoric feeling that hunts me

I don't know if it's a sadness or if I'm genuinely lost.

I flip through these pages over and over,

Yet every time I tell myself it's not the same

I have been the same different person every time.

I could follow the pattern of my pattern but I failed

Or maybe I want to feel

What it feels like to betray me

I break my own rules, trust me

Between waking up and till the moment I sleep

I kiss the beast that can't released.

I walk through the street of doubt

Dangerously I dance on a cold, irony steel

I follow my sins and the sins of others

I curse the beast

I eat my doubt

I write my confessions and the confessions of others

On a bed of soft, fake feather and sharp-edges glass, I sleep

I wake up counting my blessing, then I Repeat.