The tiredness that sank into his bones felt so real.

He had no reason to feel exhausted, yet he was.

He rolled out of bed, exhausted.

He went to school, exhausted.

He did everything a good scholar should, exhausted.

Nothing felt energizing.

Everything was another chore on his mental list.


The anxiety of who he was curled in his stomach.

He peered into the mirror, anxious.

He compared his body, anxious.

He thought about what he said, anxious.

He pondered his every action, anxious.

Nothing felt right.

Everything incited an internal panic.


The sadness weighed heavily on his shoulders.

He stayed up at night, feeling blue.

He stayed quiet when out with friends, feeling blue.

He ate constantly, feeling blue.

He immersed himself in his work, feeling blue.

Nothing felt exciting.

Everything was dissatisfying.