Wasting space, I'm sick to my stomach.  The greater the demand, the lesser my will.  Try to tell me what to feel -I've already felt it.  The struggle within has made me give in and there is NO answers.  I drag myself up - for what?  I'm not sure of.  I hear the screeching voices wanting things. I attempt to teach the things I've never learned.  I want to cry but there is no time.  Forcing a smile, I give what I don't have and another day goes by.  Helplessness feeding self-hatred.  Dying slowly and hoping for salvation.  Wanting to scream but no sound will escape me.  My youth curdling like sour cream and time no longer being be a friend of mine.  Somewhere in the depths of my soul there is a hope, of what - I don't know.  I cling to it to face the day as my fingers feel it slip away.