I’m a masochist to my own demise,
with these broken fragments from my childhood
lashing out as they plague and torment my mind.
I’ve tried to wash away the sadness with drinking,
but it only numbs the pain for awhile
and that kind of hurt can’t be healed overnight.
I’ve been chasing after things that don’t make sense,
making choices that will lead to regret.
I’m putting band-aids over wounds, I won’t allow to heal.
I can’t tell the difference between pleasure and pain,
and the intensity of it all brings me to my knees
I’ve tried over and over, but I can’t escape.
Here I am, a broken soul, in a shell of a body.
Screaming for healing from the inside out
here I am, a masochist to my own demise.