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 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

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

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.

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.

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.

The burn
cuts
so deep
right to the bone.

I don't want it to stop.