Its only 12:42 and I've woken myself up five times by asking where i am
Every place that should feel like home petrifies me
You say I'm spoiled and you don't think i give a ****,
But it's not that I'm ungrateful,
It's just that I'm dead
I try to say thank you, but my voice is too small
My throat becomes a vortex,
Stealing the words my lips long to spit out
Leaving my mouth an empty drought

Sitting still in hopes the cinder block will migrate to the rest of my body,
Wishing i would turn to stone
I feel so fragile every time you speak,
As if my bones and destined to one day turn to glass
And why am i awake if sleep is for the weak?

My heart is an earthquake, my whole body's shaking furiously
Ripping my insides apart laboriously
I try so hard to find my brain and put it back in place