You could be happy


Skin deep

It wriggles inside me, just beneath my flesh, tempting me again and again. (Tear at the flesh, it says, Make yourself FEEL good. Stop hesitating all the time, what’s the matter with some guilty pleasure? Knowing it’s wrong doesn’t– Shouldn’t– matter.)

I resist the urge to rip off my skin, there is no point in doing that. (But doesn’t it feel good? It does, it does, it does.)

Why would I do such a thing? No point in doing that at all, nothing but ruined appearances and broken pieces. (But you want to.)

Sometimes it comes out even when I didn’t touch it, it just resurfaces, magically appearing out of no where, my biggest fear. (But you know very well there is not magic in this world.)

I wonder if I ever learnt anything from the past, the same scars that I carry with me from now till the end of my days, you know I hate those scars. (Yet you can’t resist.)

(No point in resisting the addiction, everyone know what’s bad for them but they do it all the time. Why do you pick up that cigarette and light it up? Burning your life into crisp along with the tobacco flavours that you pick. Why do you cry at night and sleep with swollen eyes? There is no one to pity you in the dark. It doesn’t mean anything to know wrong from right, because you never make the decision based on it’s righteousness. No point? Yes, there’s no point in lying to yourself.)

Who am I fooling? (Noone, least of all, yourself.)