I won't get out of bed.
I don’t want to cry.
I’m tired of being a victim of their jokes,
and their boorish behavior.
I’d rather lay here.
I’ll pretend I’m sick.
I’ll make up anything just to stay in bed.
I’d rather cry in secret.
My arms are already covered with pain.
Pain I’ve shown through cuts.
I think they will turn into scars soon.
I’ve ran out of long sleeve shirts.
It’s too warm for a jacket since it’s almost summer.
Therefore, I won't get out of bed.
Without me there, what will they do?
I want to be anchored  to my bed.
I don’t want to drift away from it.
I know that my bed has become my habitue,
but i don’t care.
I won't get out of bed.
I’m tired of their jokes.