i wake up and feel the weight
of another day that never asked for me.
the ceiling stares back, blank as i feel,
mocking the effort it takes just to breathe.
there's nothing left inside—
no warmth, no spark, no reason.
only the hollow echo of something
that used to matter.
every word from their mouths cuts like glass,
and i hate them for speaking,
for trying to fill the silence i've grown to wear.
i hate the sun for rising.
i hate the night for ending.
i hate the air for moving in and out of me
when i never invited it.
my chest is a pit,
an open grave that swallows everything whole.
even rage, even tears,
even the smallest flicker of hope.
all that's left is this raw, gnawing ache,
a dull scream stitched into my skin.
i plead with the void—
let this be the last page,
let this be the final breath,
let the weight of all these empty hours
finally crush me into silence.
but the clock ticks on,
and i'm still here.
a sick joke played by time,
too tired to laugh, too broken to cry.
YOU ARE READING
poems
Poetrypoems i've written. i recommend reading from the bottom of the parts and working up to the first one. i promise they get better and more lengthy. the first few poems are rhyme schemes, the rest are free verse peoms. please don't take without credits...
