I wrote this while eating peanut butter and wallowing in self pity

I am a slave to my emotions. 

The vain imaginings of my disobedient  head.

I tell it to knock it off, but it just laughs at me and tells me to shut up. 

My brain sends unwanted, but so desperately wanted images to my eyes

And I cringe. 

Because all it does is hurt me. 

I can understand why Oskar bruises himself so often. 

Because I want to. 

Because maybe that pain will feel worse than the made up real pain I feel in my treacherous head. 

And maybe gate theory will work this time. 

I know it won't. 

But that won't stop me from trying again. 

And again

And again

Because anything to distract me from this is a blessing. 

Because nothing hurts as bad as this. 

If I were a robot I wouldn't feel this. 

Because robots are hard wired and cold metal. 

Software. 

Devoid of creativity

Unable to feel love

Or pain. 

So maybe there's a way I can lock my heart up where no one can find it. 

Remove it. 

Plate it in gold. 

Throw it to the bottom of the ocean. 

Anything to stop the pain.