Stress

If it’s stress was a drug then I am blacking out on it

I’m being held against my will and being injected with it hourly

My veins are a jagged mess, raw and throbbing

It is being exuded through the sweat excreted on my temples and in the acid of my breath

I cannot even recognize myself in the mirror, just a junkie version of who I once was

My bloodshot eyes looking through the tunnel and seeing no end

My skin flaking awake with every nervous itch, removing pieces of myself

My only hope is to check myself into rehabilitation to relieve some pressure

The long cycle of an abused drug addict


Niraksha Singh

I believe that scars, visible or not, make up the essence of who we are

2 Comments

mariamichaela · February 23, 2018 at 8:42 pm

Ohsome!

aditi_capricorn · February 23, 2018 at 9:47 pm

woww!!!

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