Every morning is the same question:
"Why do I wake up?"
And every time, it's harder to answer.

Every day I march to war
to fight the demons that blur my world,
but the only weapon I have is a fake smile.

Every afternoon I try to forget that day:
the cold tiled floor cradling me
as I kissed a bottle of pills.

Every evening I think of my parent's relief
of packing my things and
never spending another penny on a rotten child

Every heart beat that runs in my thing throat
is nothing but a reminder of worthlessness.

Every tear is a scream -
it reverberates in an aching head.

Every minute, I ask myself questions
I don't know that answer to.

Why do I try anymore?