Cyclical

Every night
When the moon replaces the sun
I’m haunted by sharp things
That speak to me, begging me to carve in to
Not only my arms, but in to
Everything I’ve ever known to be real.

And every day
When the sun replaces the moon
I’m haunted by regret
That stabs in to me, begging me to put a stop to
Not only to what I do to myself, but to
The way I reject reality to feed my addiction.

by imperfect

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