My friend asks, “Do you never get tired of your sadness?”

I do.

Everyday is a battle I face, struggling to keep myself alive, trying to find reasons to not **** myself but all I can find are reasons why I’m better off dead.

She says, “Why don’t you try doing things that makes you happy?”

I wish it was that easy to do the things I enjoy (read: used to enjoy) doing but it’s hard when you can’t even get yourself out of the bed in the morning, wishing you would just stop existing instead because that seems like the only probable solution to your problem.

It’s hard to be happy when you’re being constantly reminded just how much of a **** you are, all the negative thoughts eating you alive. The feeling of emptiness clawing its way through your throat and making its presence known but god knows you don’t  want it — never even asked for it in the first place.

I’m tired of being sad all the time. I’m tired of always being tired, locking myself in my room and withdrawing myself from any forms of social interaction because the thing is I don’t have enough energy to talk to anyone today, please leave me alone.

These days I’ve been feeling numb. I try to do things to make myself feel something — or anything at all, but all that I am is numb and empty. It’s like nothing will ever bring me happiness or sorrow. I feel like there’s nothing that will ever make me feel something again.  

My friend says, “You know I’m here for you, right?” but she never remembers to check up on me on days I feel like darkness is the only thing to keep me company, the weight of living taking its toll on me. She never remembers to ask me how I’m doing on days where I feel like death is the only solution to my depression.

It’s hard to stay alive when you can’t seem to find any reasons to live at all.

—l.a.

all the flowers
i have ever
taken care of
and has ever
held in my hand
always ends up
withering—
just like how
your heart did
when you gave
it to me.

You told me you wanted to be an artist but you do not know how to paint. What you did not know was that you are already an artist, and the first art you have ever painted was the smile across my lips.

you told me i was like an open book—easy to read, but difficult to understand.

”why?” i asked, and you simply simled at me and said,

”because you’re written in a language i am not fluent in.”

one, two, three, four, five
i try to count the amount of tears that fell from my eyes,
but they were uncountable like the raindrops that falls from the sky,
though, i don't know the reason why i cry.

it's always like this every single day,
one moment i'm okay,
then the next second i find myself crying,
it's hard but i'm trying.

i'm trying to find words to describe this unexplainable feeling,
but i always end up finding nothing,
because, the truth is don't even know what i feel,
i don't even know why i'm like this.

sometimes i want people to see through me,
i wish for my friends to see what i really feel,
but it's like they don't even care,
they only tell me it's all gonna be okay.

but words are just words,
sure, they do bring comfort,
though, only for a short amount of time;
i wish they'd do something else other than say those ****** lines.

people don't understand it at all,
it's not just me being sad,
it's not just about me feeling empty;
i wish there were words to describe how i feel.

my heart feels so empty,
and my mind keeps on screaming at me—
telling me that i am useless,
making me feel even more worthless.

please help me,
i'm trying but nothing seems to be working,
and at the end of the day i always find myself crying,
wishing i was anything but unhappy.

—l.a.