I can't talk about it
I can't act like it's happening
I can't acknowledge its existence
because then it becomes real

I can't pretend it's not happening
I can't continue hoping it disappears
I can't even decipher if it's real
because it sneaks into every crevice

I can't say anything
I can't do anything about it
I can't move
because I can't rock the boat

I can't be myself
I can't be around people
I can't be around myself
because I'm disgusted

I can hide
I can lie
I can pretend
because that's all I can muster

Are these
"mood clouds"
just a sign of my
unhappiness,
or something larger
that has slipped
between the cracks?

I can't discern
what is real,
what is in my control,
what is fate,
what is possible,
what is valuable,
what emotion is just
cause by a bad day,
or something deeper.

****,
what do I even want.

There comes a point
when it's not even worth it.

It's
days
like
these

that
make
me
want
to
disappear

into
foreve­r
or
never

I am so close
to saying goodbye,
to being finished
because I can't
live anymore.

I walk about
with a smile on my face
while my insides are being
ripped apart,
with a mask so heavy
it encases my body
so densely and restricting
while withering away
whatever is left inside
slowly killing it.

The burn
cuts
so deep
right to the bone.

I don't want it to stop.

Someone, or something,
has wrapped me in syran wrap,
encased me with endless chains,
and pushed me into the ocean,
demanding I swim to the other side.

The worst part,
is knowing
people have
no idea how
close I am
to

dro
wn
i
n
g

If I slit my wrists,
nothing will happen
except sacrificing my own dreams
and folding to life's threats

but it beats me every round,
right down the pulp,
and I don't know if winning
will ever be worth it