You know the days aren't so bad when you can wake up without any struggle.
And actually look decent.

When the days are bad, you struggle, getting out of bed becomes pointless.
Looking even semi-decent is like trying to climb a mountain. Without any gear.

When he asks you what's wrong, you just look at him and shrug. The problem is that you don't even know why your down. You just are.

It's a constant mystery the moment you wake up. The question you ask your self every morning as you lay in bed looking up at your ceiling: is today a good day?

Who am I.
Symptoms of the mind, my mind, is deteriorating rapidly.
Empty smiles, blank expressions staring at me.
Please, not that again.
Forgetting to be forgotten.
That feeling I don't understand.
Why am I broken?
Foolish.
No reason for it.
I knew it was perfectly normal.

Broken hearts and dying of love.
It withers down into an early grave.
Love is but a song.
A women's heart is her world.
Her soul if shipwrecked is a bankruptcy of the heart.
The disappointment of love wounds some feelings.
But a women's life is her own thoughts and feelings.

A time where all the mountains meet,
my soul cried out to my heart; trying to break clean.
To late to be. To tired to sleep. I cried myself to a bottle, cheap.
A cheating, a lie, a sweet bitter cry.
I called him out, all he did was lie.
His mind not caring, my tears not dry,
our feelings drying out in the moon that's too high.

Drip.
Drip.
Boom.

When I look out my rain plastered window.
I see the storm is approaching the meadow.

Drip.
Drip.
Boom.

I lay back on my bed and listen.
I hear the window and the rain kissing.
I imagine how the sunlit meadow glistens.

Drip.
Drip.
Boom.

My heart starts to flutter.
When I hear the proud thunder.
My room lights up in color.
As the lightning strikes another.

Drip.
Drip.
Boom.

All of my words drown in the noise.
While my mind is risen and poise.
Like me, sometimes, the storm is powerful and destroys.

Drip.
Drip.
Boom.

When the morning comes near.
Everything is bright and clear.