My Demons

Not even really that much of a poem, I don't even know what to call it. I don't care.. I want to turn up the music loud enough to satisfy, but the closest I could get to drowning out the voices in my head is a blown pair of earbuds. I want to be happy with myself, but the closest I could get is feeling publicly presentable with a face caked with makeup. I want to feel like I'm worth something, but the closest I could get is bloody arms and thighs, and tear-stained pillows. I want to feel skinny, but the closest I could get is crying on a scale. I'm sick of feeling like nothing will ever get better. I'm sick of feeling like I hold everyone back. I'm sick of feeling like everyone would be better if I were dead.