A hand pushes me in the black
whenever a ray of colour dares to appear in my eyes,
even in my happiest moments
I feel its touch on my spine,
it sets worries on my forehead,
a hand designated by my inner demons
to keep me restless.

In the echo of my laughter
you can still hear the voice of my angst
eating me alive.

A hand wakes me up at night,
painting nightmares under my lashes,
pulling my muscles,
breaking my bones,
digging in my flesh with its sharp claws;
the ceiling pressing my face,
I die a million times and still it is not enough.
it never stops.
.
My mind hurts,
heart beats too fast,
cracking up my weak veins.
Paralysed
I scream and cry,
afraid of the next nightmare,
I hope one day I will be able to hide.

*In the echo of my scream
you can still hear the leftovers of someone
who once wanted to live.

It's a struggle
To exist
With only
Half
A soul

This is how it goes:
You start to think you're over them
Then you start to over think
You fall back to the pace of
Barely walking, barely breathing
And the circumstances rewind
And play, rewind and play
All the words you said?
Weren't good enough.
All the voices in your head?
You should have listened.
But it's over. Done.
The curtains have closed.
After all,
You're over it.