i’m sick of complaining about all the same things. my life is shit because i deserve it, right? i keep crying to the moon of my unfortunes, whispering all the poison in my brain that clings to everything i want, everyone i love, everything i miss. it’s sticky, it’s deathly, it wraps itself around every small light i reach for and pulls it down with me. i try to scrape it off, to wash it away, but it seeps through the cracks, finds a home beneath my nails, behind my eyes.

some days it feels like it’s all for nothing. all the writing, the crying, the stupid apologies to the ones i’ve hurt the most, the ones my heart aches for constantly. i write to make sense of it, but the words come out spoiled, repeating themselves like a broken prayer. i say i’m sorry until the word means nothing. i promise to change, to grow, but the mirror doesn’t care. it just reflects the same tired face, the same heavy stare.

my head pounds as i type this, the same words again and again, complain complain, a mirror of disdain. i hate that i can’t stop looking at my pain, that i keep picking at it like a wound that won’t close. maybe i love it a little, the way it reminds me i’m still alive. maybe that’s the worst part of it all.

it never ends, and i can’t let it. i can’t. because if it ends, what’s left of me? the quiet? the waiting? the empty space where the noise used to be? i don’t know who i am without the ache..