Strife despair stories

mipoet Insomniac
Autoplay OFF   •   3 years ago
Knife in my hand, I let the red out, and let the devil in.


Knife in my hand,

I let the red out,

and let the devil in.

Struggling with this sin.

Self mutilation,

self harm,

for me it’s the same,

regardless of name.

My wife stays quiet.

I know resentment builds.

Is it the devil or me?

In her face, anger I see.

But this is not so easy,

I can’t simply stop.

Not with work stress,

and my life in a mess.

Unappreciated at best.

They make me feel a loser.

Incompetent at worst.

Self loathing seeks to burst.

I’ve been holding back,

believe it or not.

The small scars you see,

just a hint of the pain in me.

So stressed out,

this feels so pointless.

I want to die.

Wish I could cry.

But I can’t do that.

Not when I want.

And I so much want to.

God I really do.

His hands cold,

his eyes hot,

the devil grips me today,

I fear I won’t get away.

Can’t go back to work.

Not if they do this.

But how to pay each bill,

with an income of nill.

So I struggle on,

but I’m getting tired.

It must end, this strife,

it is consuming my life.

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