Manic Panic
The Black Dahlia
- Jan 5, 2025
- 780
It's not sadness anymore, it's… blank.
Like my skin doesn't fit right and I'm looking at my hands thinking
this isn't me, these aren't mine.
I talk to myself more than anyone else now,
half of it is out loud, half of it just an endless screaming in my head.
I don't even fight the thoughts anymore...
the ones that say "you could just stop, you could just vanish."
It's almost comforting,
the idea of going completely still,
of dissolving into something too small to hurt.
I imagine the world without me,
how quiet it would be in my place,
how the weight I am would finally slip off everyone else's shoulders.
Sometimes I wonder if people will think I was crazy,
or if they'll say they "saw it coming."
Maybe they'll be relieved.
Maybe they won't care.
Wouldn't matter either way because the noises would stop and I wouldn't be here to see it.
Like my skin doesn't fit right and I'm looking at my hands thinking
this isn't me, these aren't mine.
I talk to myself more than anyone else now,
half of it is out loud, half of it just an endless screaming in my head.
I don't even fight the thoughts anymore...
the ones that say "you could just stop, you could just vanish."
It's almost comforting,
the idea of going completely still,
of dissolving into something too small to hurt.
I imagine the world without me,
how quiet it would be in my place,
how the weight I am would finally slip off everyone else's shoulders.
Sometimes I wonder if people will think I was crazy,
or if they'll say they "saw it coming."
Maybe they'll be relieved.
Maybe they won't care.
Wouldn't matter either way because the noises would stop and I wouldn't be here to see it.
