These rooms with high ceilings are beginning to **** me off.
And the echos that amplify as I get weaker sound a little too close to the voice inside my head.
Finding a reason to smile was so much easier than choking out my fears. That's probably why I stopped my strangling.
And the flowers you planted in the palms of my hand look so ******* pretty.
They're the only reason I haven't balled my fists in rage yet.

But it's getting harder.
And I'm getting worse
And I can only say 'I'm sorry' so many times.

I was fine yesterday.
I'll be fine tomorrow.
It's only today that gets me

It just pains me to think that tomorrow will just be another "today"