Fuck it

There are days when I feel... pretty great.
Then, I wake up.
I realize that I've let the goofy, naive, stupid part of me win and I'm wide open, soft parts showing, belly up and just asking for it. Drop the axe, baby, give it to me good. Tear at the pieces you can see, when the pain hits, I'll just close my eyes. Head back, mind exploding in fireworks of confusion and synapses, I'll try to bury myself. I'll try to ignore it. I'll tell myself: I'm ok. I'll tell myself: next time it'll be different. Letting this happen, I'll be so sure I've earned something like love. But in reality, the pieces never grow back, and these scars only layer into a rough scary armour. I wonder when it will happen. When I won't feel anything anymore.