Addicted To Self-Harmers

I am on my crooked knees
Slapped by the bittersweet sea
Of a scar that feels way too familiar

I am on the wounded healer
A buffoon’d drug dealer with murky medicine that won’t patch
Up these marks like we want them to.

Tell me

After poetry

Do you still feel like this is all a dream?
Like you a fucking feen?
Is self-sabotaging nearly as seductive as me?

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