Brain Dead

I relinquished my ideals of a perfect world the moment all the words in my brain surfaced
And in the form of an inverted dread,
clawing at my eyes and ears they spoke to me,
removing all coherant thought from my head,
desiring death
but the reaper didn't want me dead
so here I stand again...

Crawling up the back of a broken stairwell littered with jumping shadows
and personal demons,
and as I l climbed higher I realized heaven must be on earth
because what I saw could only be described as hell
And I fell

Into the ash and brimstone,
the flames caressed my flesh and taught it lies I'd hate myself for,
and that self-hatred motivates me to the ends of the earth as I try fruitlessly
to love myself in the way that my self loves others

But what is the self other than a perception of who you see?
What is identity but a description of what you feel the need to be?
I lay here awake at night licking my wounds and contemplating the meaning of life,
the concept of time, and the way the beat of a butterfly's wing could end it
Death is watching around every corner
A pleasureful,
inevitable
demise