Whenever it hits, I draw for a book,
I write down my thoughts and how I feel.
I ignore the task I have at hand,
As the thoughts in my head float aimlessly around.
Inspiration hits when I am most hurt, It's as if my heart and brain barely works.
It should've been the opposite, should it not? To share the joy in whatever I've got. Instead, I hide the good and glorify what's not.
I think I'm a sadist, I truly do, For my own downfall, I seek to come through.
I smile at my downfalls,
And frown at my victories.
Why I'm like that has always been a mystery,
Maybe it's a coping mechanism I've devopled.
To expect the worst to avoid disappointments.
I try my best to keep to myself,
But sometimes my thoughts run around in my head.
And my thirst for self-destruction needs to be fed,
Don't pity me, I beg. It's what I want.
Full control over what can hurt me and what can't.
©ashanta
A