I've been in this room for ages
Shouting, screaming, bearing this pain
Confined in this illuminated space
Surrounded by white walls
It worsened my pain
Prevents me from breathing
I am choking from the stench smell that whirls in the air
In and out, going back and forth
Your touch, your porcelain skin
The moist feeling of your caress
Staying gives me relief
Comfort to my pain and ache

Needles inside, please stop I had enough
I am so tired
Let me fall into a deep sleep
Let me be numb
I cannot bear this sensation
The squeezing of my insides
It crushes my heart

I tried to cure it, I did
Nothing worked, nothing did
Is it my fault for feeling this way?
All I wanted was for my emptiness to be filled
I admit, I have no sense of control
Stuffing my mouth and eventually suffered
Pangs and ache consumed my being

The lining is already teared
Abrased, lacerated, this is absurd
Continuous flow
Wiping repeatedly
The bin overflows with the rolls
Flushing, hoping this is my last
Please end this misery,
Diarrhea, I don't like your company.

I forgot how your touch felt
For I froze and became numb
In Antarctica
After you left me.

What should we do
With the thoughts
We know
We can never
Share with anyone?

I saw your photos today. You looked so good. Your new haircut suits you well. You also gained a little bit of weight. The smile you wore in that photo made my heart skip a little then it beated faster as the thought of I'll never be the reason anymore crossed my mind.

I was never half full
Nor half empty
I was always a cup
A punctured cup
Never to be filled
Never to be fulled

Sometimes, I find it hard to write, and sometimes I don't. And sometimes, I find it difficult to bring to words how sad and happy and frustrated and angry and ecstatic and morose and forlorn and agitated I am with life.

That's why, most of the time, I choose not to speak.

Because words aren't enough to express my introspection. Because words would only complicate my complicated thoughts. Because my rumination is a process that words cannot simply justify.

Because everyone wants to speak, yet no one wants to listen.

Most of the people nowadays are too egoistic to lend an ear.

Others whine of not being heard, yet they only listen to respond, not to understand.

That's where problems stem.

I'd rather be a silent listener than a speaker who only listens to respond, not to understand.

In a closed room with white walls, nothing can be heard but their heavy breathing and the beeping of machines.

Cacophonous sob and whispers grew.
The sound of the machine is slowing down.

It was time.

A man wearing a white coat came.

It really was time.

Nothing can hurt more than seeing someone go.