Rusty Knives, Dull Lives


The pain doesn’t make me cry anymore.

When I hear her name from you
and see your face light up at the sound of her voice
It hurts me
but less, as I am
Saturated with the Morphine
made of time.
The longer I force the clock to tick backwards,
the duller the pain becomes-
some days, I can tune it out
by drowning myself in
Alcohol and Drugs.

By now, I think the knives are just a part of me-
Everyone knows that the first step to remedy
Is to accept the pain.

This case of Stockholm syndrome
Is the sickest joke of it all
As I turn to you for pain
To stop the pain, claiming that
the good of you outweighs the bad.

Rusty Knives, Dull Lives

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