with nothing

Eternally blaming myself endlessly, repeating the same patterns, making mistakes for the same reasons. I act aware of my future regret, and then I despise myself. I'm clear from the start what this will do to me, yet I don't avoid it. I don't even try to avoid it. I hesitate to take a step further, perhaps I should vent, empty my pain and guilt somehow. Perhaps I should empty myself completely. I know what I want to do isn't good for me, perhaps I'll even hate myself more afterward, maybe it will become routine and I'll ruin myself. A future so uncertain and so many possibilities. I must let myself go or hold back and continue suffering. Neither option calms my despair. I've decided to give way to the worst decision. I'm going to open the floodgates to my probable deterioration, and not just on a mental level. I'm emptying my body until I'm left with nothing; without sustenance, without words, without breath, without guts. Without peace or war; without life.