it's past midnight
it's late
it hurts
it's never stopped
its excruciating pain
eating away at my brain
my dischevelled body, as ill as it looks
can never compare with my ravaged head, the mess within
i tell myself it would be a sin
yet the thoughts were embossed and buried long ago,
whether permanent or temporary
it's tiring
it's heavy

it's all in the past
but it hurts
when it's late,
when it's past midnight.