Jugular.
May 8, 2024
Words spewed become slashes of one thousand knives piercing every area of this canvas you claim to care for. We both hurt, disrespecting the other and diminishing all the efforts we put forth. I wish I could hold strong to the positive but the wounds have reopened and maybe I’m just not meant for any spaces where good things happen. Short-lived like everything else in life. So I’d rather numb every emotion and sense with whatever substance is available.
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Drinking myself into oblivion or getting higher than the hurt. Anything is better than being struck in the jugular because of my past repeatedly.
