If a poet fills his wounds with poetry, will his body become a masterpiece?

Its not love
Its abuse
Open your eyes
To see the truth

i can't pick up the pieces
every time you break
i have my own
to retrieve from the floor

Step one,
Get in their
Head,

Make them
Believe love
Is real

Before you
Leave them
For dead.

Step two,

Love isn't
What you
Need.

So you cast
Them aside,

Only looking
Out for yourself
And failing to see:

Nothing's
Permanent.

Toss and turn,
Watch it burn

Because
Coffins aren't
Just for the dead

Lay them down,
Lock them in,

Because
Broken hearts

Never win.

Friendless and strange
Hoping for change

Why can't I be like them?
It shouldn't be so hard
For them it comes naturally

Laughing
Hugging
Talking all day

I just watch with envy
Wishing I could be this way

Have you ever wanted to escape to a place where no one can see you?
Maybe you tried imagining the place by yourself.
The innocent little dreams turned into maladaptive daydreaming.
And suddenly, you're sentenced to being mentally ill

The imaginary world begines to grow,
Consuming you more and more.
Soon, you can't see the difference between the real world and the one
You made up.

You slip into derealization
It drowns you while giving you short breaks for air
To let you stay alive
While still hurting