Join for FREE | Take the Tour Lost Password?
Shop deviantART for the
holidays and save BIG!
Click here! :holly:
[x]

deviantART

:date:
 


Prickly metal and burning need, my tweezers are food for an addiction they feed. Like crack and acid, a wild mental state breaks free, its comfort, and solace and freedom for me. Ashen red cysts cover my legs and my hands, whats left on my head hangs bright red and in strands. I have no control, a slave to myself, my sanity spirals, and so does my health. My hair is the enemy in an endless bloody fight, I continue the carnage well into the night.
If the addiction was killed, and I started anew, I fear so strong willed, that I would die too.
©2006-2009 ~antiprenuer
:iconantiprenuer:

Author's Comments

This poem was written about my Trich, which seems to be the only solace I have.

Comments


love 0 0 joy 0 0 wow 0 0 mad 0 0 sad 0 0 fear 0 0 neutral 0 0
:iconantiprenuer:
Its been pretty bad.
It was more severe a couple years ago, but I'm getting better, after several infections.

--
Hay!
:iconslave2words-rhyme:
Yeah. I could say that maybe, in time, it'll get better, but I thought mine was better until recently. it never really goes away. just don't take meds for it. they don't help, and mess up your brain. my mom had put me on some before, so i know.
:icontrich-club:
Is there any chance I could add this to our club deviations?
:icongods-fruity-spirit:
infections? what do you mean?

Details

August 19, 2006
645 bytes

Statistics

5
4 [who?]
65 (0 today)
0 (0 today)

Share

Link
Thumb

Site Map