Ramblings Of The Insane

"Why aren't these wounds healing?"
I sometimes talk to the people inside my head.
New faces leave their marks along my arms.
They say I deserve it.

"Why am I here?"
I can't help but glare at the closed metal door.
Most of my hair is on the floor as I rip it out.
Freshly healed scabs along my arms get torn open.

"Why won't I die?"
Get lost in the chasms of my own destruction.
I do believe I may have lost my mind a little.
I feel pretty low. Pretty fucking low.