The few same songs on repeat.

Got melancholy, depression and angst to last me through these nights. And a bottle of vodka to drown out the voices when they get too loud.

These words are stuck. I don't really know what I want.
I don't know how to feel anymore.
To put it simply, I'm not happy.

I need a break. From everything. From duties, decisions, school, people and life.
I need a knife, some pills, a bathtub for dramatic setting and a white tiled bathroom.
I need an ending.

And stop asking, because if I start talking, I might start crying and never stop. because what's wrong in me is what's right in all of you.
The best mistake of this whole weekend.
Screwing your whole life up with one click of the mouse.

All I want is deliverance.
Or maybe just some fucking pills to get me through the nights and times like this when I let stupidity rule my head.

A couple of Panadol. Vodka. Repeat.
That's all I really wanna do for the rest of my life.

Oh and I really do want a fucking club to hit you so hard across the face that all the blood just spurts right out from your mouth, nose and ears. And then I'll let repetition take over my actions.

I lie awake. You speak. I hear you crying in my ear, your pathetic sobs warm and real. Your ploy of deceit, your manipulation plays out painfully clear right before my eyes again and again.. And I witness my fall. Again and again. The blood, the gore, the pain, the death.

I look into the mirror. Foolish, ugly, tragic and sleepless. The blood under my eyes are clogging up. Dark shadows upon wide windows of fear. My hair, your hands. My face, your hands. Everything goes back to you. My hands, your face. My hands, your hair. My face, your face. Your everything. Every single fucking thing. That I still remember in painful clarity. That I can't stop myself from remembering.

I flinch when I hear your name. I stop when I see someone like you. I change the way I speak and act. I change my hairstyle. I change my face. Change my lips. My eyes. My nose. My smile. My frown. My ears. My everything.

Yet, it still hurts. Fucking hurts.

And for every undeserving tear I've shed for you, I hope you never know. Because I want to start anew.

Truth is, all I want is to forget.
To fall asleep into my personal coma and never wake up so that I don't have to see your fucking face again.
Your hands, my hands. Your eyes, my eyes. Mind games. Love games.

If only these feelings could translate into words.