Sometimes I have nothing to write
and I wait for months and months
to pass only to find within time--
I'm still lonely.

Lonely can be so cruel
like solitary confinement
right behind your eyelids
and the sleep you can't awake
rests upon your fate,
you better wake the **** up
before it's too late.

Wake up.
Wake up. Wake up.
My therapist said
something is wrong with my head.
He found a word to describe me,
I never knew I wasn't like me.
Just a piece in a text book...
To describe my whole life.
All the series of traumas,
the abuse and dramas,
patterns and thoughts,
just to be boxed up...

I am not special.
I am nothing great.
But I dont care,
I refuse to ******* cave
into my demise.