Laments and shouts
Harsh words and strangled throuts
Slamed doors, hurting doubts...

This is how I will always remember you.

Green irises on blankets of red veins
Fighting, denying, throwing blames
I see you walking before my eyes
Smoking, cursing...then despise
The morbid silence in me,
All the truths I began to see.

Torned,I turn my look around
On these ***** dishes,
My real thoughts will never be found;
My foolish dreams, my childish wishes.

Please, don't wake up now
I'm almost at the door-
On fighting, I've withdrawn.
A thirst for tireness, always for more.

You used to have a spirit
Of glee and perseverance,
That's been long forgotten
In my childhood rememberence.

Life became life...
But you had to stir it!

Stir all its issues with a three-bladed knife
Abandon all the good we had
On departed kites,
Keep ur pride on exorbitant hights,
Which chained my life with no rights
Of change and reabilitation,
My eyes dried of solitude and depression
Since I was born.
You've become a white shadow
In a black mind whose thoughts
Lie in storms.

Why is it so impossible for me to get out of bed?
I am tired.
A tireness no amount of sleep could discard.
I know, I've tried.
There have been days where I went to sleep at 6 pm,
Woke up at 9 pm,
and then went back to sleep.
And I slept until 8 am.
But this is a bone-deep tiredness.
So, I stay in bed.
Sitting up in bed alone takes up all my energy,
So why should I get up?
My eyes burn and are swollen shut from the tears I shed last night,
This battle to stay alive
This battle against depression
Anxiety
My own mind
It is all to difficult,
And I don't have the energy to fight it.
I can't get out of bed.
I feel quite safe in this bed that my blankets have encased me in,
And I am not hungry...
At least not enough to get up and go get some food.
I just hate the 'outside world,'
Being in the car makes my stomach turn,
And the screaming of my stomach is so annoying.
If the car I was feeling ill in suddenly crashed,
I wouldn't mind.
I feel tired,
And alone,
And empty...
Always empty.
There's always something missing.
Answer me this:
If my poor old mother was sobbing on the phone, begging me to stay...
Begging me to suffer, in other words...
Would I really be around to care?
What's the point??
There.
That's it.
What's the point?
That's why I can't get out of bed.
I could be so **** motivated.
"Come on," I'd encourage myself, "We got this!! Get up!!"
And I'd sit up,
Sigh,
And immediately sit back down.
Because what IS the point?
So,
I'll lay in this bed of mine,
Held down by these blankets,
And I won't mind a single bit.
Because I'm rather fascinated by these nightmares,
And I'm not hungry...
At least, not enough to get up.