No Cure

These words are murder the individual letters like bloody daggers.

These feelings are death the emotions like crowded coffins.

These thoughts are endless the messages like lost baggage.

My identity is confusing my reflection varies from healed to scary.

I don’t sleep because the past images make me toss and turn.

I don’t eat because the past bandages make me lose my appetite.

I don’t cry because emotionally I have removed myself from life.

My identity is confusing my reflection varies from confidence to insecurities.

The reality is I will never be healed, my sobriety comes at the cost of having feelings, I have been diagnosed with eternal mental flaws, more scars amidst my mind then the stars in the sky…

Learn to live with the sickness, learn to minimize the damage, learn to not allow the patterns to live on, learn to reside.