It’s one of those days again, accompanied by a dull ache,
Where even walking, even rising from bed, feels like a task.
My eyes stare blankly at the walls — life is wuthering,
But I make it a point to wear a mask.
This mask tries to obscure the pain within,
But we all know it’s a sham — the ones who matter can see it all.
They try to cheer me, say, “Get busy,”
But how to explain? Busyness cannot solve it at all.
Aug 20, 2025
Aug 20, 2025 at 2:30 AM UTC
It’s one of those days again, accompanied by a dull ache,
Where even walking, even rising from bed, feels like a task.
My eyes stare blankly at the walls — life is wuthering,
But I make it a point to wear a mask.
This mask tries to obscure the pain within,
But we all know it’s a sham — the ones who matter can see it all.
They try to cheer me, say, “Get busy,”
But how to explain? Busyness cannot solve it at all.