There’s a voice haunting the remnants of my thoughts

And I know it better than the back of my hand.

It whispers the contradictions I don’t want to hear,

But perceptions are fickle and so easy to mend

And self-destruction isn’t so hard to understand.

I can’t set free the callow cry or the silent scream;

I can only make them stay paralyzed inside of me.

I promised myself that I wouldn’t go back,

But here I was again with agony in my hands.

I told myself that I would end this self-loathing

And change who I was, but here I stood again

With regret balancing on my shoulders.

I said things that I never meant to say

And done things that I never intended to do,

But they still left imprints on what’s left of you.