I hate reading this.
It's like venom that keeps biting me in my sleep.
But the truth is all here.

I'm addicted to reading these posts.
They tripp me out.
My mind was so destroyed.
And I used to do anything to make myself bleed.
And the amount of overdoses I had.
I almost loved them in the end.
I never wanted to kill myself because there was some kind of second guessed dream in my head.
And I found that dream.

But I remember begging for some kind of surprise death to come to me.
I used to beat myself up.
And walk around with black eyes and bruised cheeks.
It's so confusing to do that to yourself.
I would just cry so hard,
I felt like I had to get rid of that chest pain.
And all of the evil energy inside.
And when I hit myself,
the biggest relief flew in.
I felt like I had been living.
With everyone walking around me.
Waiting to destroy me.
And give me those bruises.
And as I gave them to myself.
The weight off of everyone's shoulders flew.
They no longer had to show me how worthless I was.
I did it for them.
It felt insanely good.
Punching myself in the eye.
And this burst of light would come from the impact.

And then I would cry and kiss my left shoulder.
And apologize.
And tell myself that I didn't deserve it.
And that people degraded me because of their own poison.

And I was going to get a dot tattooed there on my shoulder.
My "I love you, I'm sorry" dot.
I got that dot recently.
It's on my back next to my carving that says "mauk"

I all of a sudden feel like a walking secret again.
Like no one knows who they're talking to.
they don't know the stories on here.
They look into my eyes,
And they only see the stories from the present.

No one should know, though.
No one should know these things.

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