I am looking everywhere, but there’s no use. I can’t stop peeking for a chance at ending my life.  
My curtains are thin, sunlight pours in way too early and it never gets dark at night. Passing car headlights project as lines on my ceiling. I count them when I can’t fall asleep.
My curtains are thin, I keep them closed to keep reality away. Sometimes, I’d shut my eyes and imagine being in a place far away, where nature is beautiful and people don’t judge as much. I’d picture a perfect world of opportunity and happiness, a world where I have never felt any pain at all.
And yet my curtains are thin, cutting my fantasies short and bringing me to my harsh reality again.
I watched a little bird sit on my windowsill today, peeking inside and flying away mere seconds later. And it got me to wonder if it felt my sadness somehow? If it felt my desperation radiating from the thick walls and glass that separated us. Oh how I wish I had its wings, oh how I wished I could just fly away too.
My curtains are thin, I can see outlines of shapes at night, and I can see my own silhouette when I sit up on my bed and cry.
Music doesn’t make me feel anymore, it just makes my heart heavier, I write but it doesn’t feel the same, and I sing but it is not perfect nor beautiful. I stumble through life but at the same time I walk on eggshells, feeling as if one simple thing will one day end up breaking me.
My curtains are thin, and I think that they listen when I confess to the silence of my sins.
My curtains are thin, and I pray they’ll flutter open the day I decide to set my soul free and stop trying to blend in.