Confessins Of Self

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Confessins Of Self

As I sit here thinking, another sleepless night full of self inflicted pain
I am hunted, running for my life, for salvation, I am game
The mental mutilation I force upon my own mind
Hope of one day beating the addiction fighting the temptation, if God would only be so kind
Constant torture of my soul brought on by my own insecurities
Killing myself with botched operations, deadly unfixable surgeries
My broken spirit caused by my self loathing
I am too self controlling

Self hatred caused by my own mistakes
Always knowing that I just don’t have what it takes but always trying anyway
Trying… my biggest mistake
My mistakes caused by my ignorance
Ignorance is suppose to be bliss but with me, it was always hit or miss
Missing the feeling of ignorant bliss
A never ending cycle of hurt implied by the way I feel
The way I feel solicited by my actions
My actions brutally punished by my self
Mental mutilation is all I can seem to achieve
I beat myself up for my own failures and for that of others
Its all my fault I cant deal anymore
I would much rather stop trying
Give up
Quit
I cant, they seem to need me and they are mostly the reason why
But all I can do is try.

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Poetry is either something that lives like fire inside you or else it is nothing, an empty formalized bore around which pedants can endlessly drone their notes and explanations.

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dmagalit’s Poems (2)

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