being beautiful
in sight of my creator
is more fulfilling
than being beautiful
in the eyes of its creation

thought I was doing fine

my skin is tearing apart

all my wounds never heal

running away from my past mistakes

catching up they always do

I'm doing fine

I believed

counting down the days for nothing

I think I'm okay

trying not to think at all

I'm so tired of myself

hard to wake up
everyday in this skin suit

where do I go now
don't like counting down the days

november whispers to me
in a quiet dream

reality breaks my heart
recreating our last days in my head

I'm a little tired
hope some sleep will help me

is this where
pain comes from

the unsettled mind
asking unanswerable

questions

millions of nasty neurons
twisting and turning

around each other
creating knots

blocking the flow
so all I can feel

is the constant need
to stretch myself