an attempt at poetry

chapter 18: 'nothing's happening tomorrow'

Nothing's happening tomorrow,

I think, staring at the ceiling,

And the thought lands like a blow,

Because, what the heck is this feeling?

I'm flooded with sorrow,

And a bit tired of always leaving,

But I woke up with a smile today,

And high fived all my friends,

So why does my brain go out of its way,

And not intend to make amends?

Why does it twist the knife more,

Of which its owner shares my blood,

Knowing it hurts me in my core,

As I flinch every time he calls me bud,

I'm not your bud or your pal,

I say,

Sadly, every single day,

Yet somehow when his eyes turn grey,

And drop down when I make him pay,

I feel the need to offer some affection,

To with my tears put out the fire around him,

Cause I never wanted to spot the reflection,

And realize I became this monster by election,

So as nothing's happening tomorrow,

I'll put on some random show,

And just go with the flow,

But never learn to outgrow,

On my own,

And at last learn what its like to let go,

So in the morning,

I'll feel content,

Not because of what I'm living,

But because of what I'm dreaming,

And I possibly won't ever relent,

Cause only I, know what its like to live with such torment.