well...this is morbid

It doesn't matter.
If I feel okay for 580 days, on 581 I break.
And it happens, I just do it.
Over and over and over.
This stupid cycle never ends
If it were a substance people would call me an addict,
but it's not, so I guess I'm not.
I'm just a big girl
who was once a little girl
and I think I must have broke one day
but never figured out how to put the pieces back together.
All the duct tape in the world can't help me.
I guess I'm too difficult.
Too difficult to be loved,
or understood,
or heard (correctly anyway).
What's the point of all this
We are supposed to be good,
but why waste my time?
Why not just do what I want,
even if what I want hurts me?
In the end, we all end up as carcasses,
we all end up the same.
It.
Doesn't.
Matter.