Self-Inflicted

The wounds are self-inflicted

When the clarity, 

The wasted doses of reality 

Become just a voice in your head,

A vision in your periphery.

When the sensible reality 

Is chewed away by the fires of neurons.

The damage is self-inflicted

When you muddle over the what-ifs 

And become blind to what is. 

When you yearn for the imaginary 

And rather skip to death 

Than to live the lows of life.

And as I live through it 

I see that this self-infliction

Are the hardest to forgive.