A hard time I lay in bed I stare at the ceiling thinking its white and beautiful as my eyes fog with tears they stream down the sides of my face I recognize the ceiling isn't perfect it has cracks in it little circles of craters throughout but for that moment of hope I felt in my soul it looked beautifully clear and white. The sunshine shines in at 12:30pm I lay in question about what to do or why to do. I stroke my wrists in need for a feeling. Of something because I'm numb. My defenses are up physically but emotionally I'm drained heavily. I strike my nails deep into my skin and it's not enough. I can't feel anything. I dug deeper to feel something. What's in here. Nothing. Do I have anything to offer anyone in this world? There's nothing here. Burns up and down strikes that are sore from slashes of self disbelief. I feel after. The burning. The whip. It's a slap feeling. It's not enough but I love some and want to stay. For those children.