Self-made traps take us to our darkest places
Bramble and bitter, brittle ice, pressed against my veins
it flows red, a cacophony of laughter
trueassess sick
repeating a nightmare all too fresh in my min


Repeating a nightmare I willingly embrace.

Why?
Is it fear that ropes me in?
Fear of being alone?
Is it self-hatred?
eat orphine a disgusted dismissal of another betrayal?


Still, it flows
and it fills my ears, my mouth, my eyes.
My Heart.
With a bitter, breaking sound.

Written by Someone


Penned by my hand on the 3rd of Artificium, in the year 658 AD.