Here's an ode to the things we can't control,
how they take hold of us
like fuel to our lust,
gasoline in our guts,
touch a spark and let the flames grow
If I tried to describe it, would you understand
or would you feign sympathy and wait for it to pass
I never asked for this, maybe its what I deserve
Too weak to control it, left only to purge
You never saw its true face, 
so you couldn't see the fatigue
not so much that I needed sleep
just how some things make you weak
so you don't notice the blood until the knife is twisting
But I recall, in the emergency room
with the curtains pulled,
how you said you knew, but you stopped.
And I don't need an answer for why
I guess you learned not to pry,
my pain taught you to cut yourself off.
But I can't, and it hurts
First its clear, still cold in my throat, then my lips
then its black, like spitting up smoke from the fires in my lungs
then it comes, and its thick and its red and it comes and doesn't stop
my insides all cut up, bleeding out
Thats how it feels, thats what its like to give up.
And I've been giving up
Its like I'm hardly alive
Trudging through nothing to the other side.
There's no point; I'm sick of trying.