In the corridors of my mind, I roam passages so thin,
rage burns through the plaster, a firestorm within.
My identity splits, shatters on silent cries,
each reflection a stranger, truth laced with lies.
Hallucinations hold court in the crumbling halls,
whispers turn to shouts behind the memory’s walls.
Obsessions twist the knobs of every locked door,
counting steps, repeating, always needing one more.
In the depths of my fracture, where shadows play,
I’m lost in the echoes that won’t fade away.
Each tick of my heart, a time bomb of guilt,
surviving but drowning in the empire I’ve built.
Touch me, and feel the chill of disconnection,
hypersexuality’s curse without affection.
Moral compass spun out in a dance of despair,
I search for salvation in a mirror’s empty stare.
Survivor’s guilt, a cloak so heavy and grim,
underneath, I’m just bones, a spirit of sin.
Surreal dissociations, my mind’s cruel jest,
living in fragments, a soul that can’t rest.
I’ve nailed my own coffin from inside these fears,
each scream a nail, each whisper a tear.
As I lay in the fracture, the world softly bends,
in clinical hellscapes, where the broken descend.