Today was the day

my inside and out felt both right and bad.

Or is it the day, really,
did it turn out to year? Right, silly
You cannot remember
time doesn’t have meaning.
Nothing is constant, but it is
cosmic irony
to have „no feeling”
and to be writing this,
in this disgusting fit.
Self-centered, little shit

I’m not broken, but my every part is glued

don’t touch
the glue is fresh and hot
to get you harmed, to get you bruised
it’s sticky, it stains your fingers
it lingers
The young skin you admire is already used
it’s tight
it chokes me
it is not drug, but hate infused.

not bored
not lazy
nor crazy
but maybe, just maybe it’s you
that made me the way I am
maybe it’s you, who I should blame
once I am in my frenzy
Yeah, once again.