Unknown

Tiles

i am sitting on my white-tiled bathroom floor

and i want to write something beautifully tragic

but it's impossible when my thoughts are so jumbled

so i sit here angrily typing on a piece of technology

trying my best not to slit my throat with every breath

but i've already slit other places on my skin

and i'm watching as the white tiles beneath me

slowly run red with my own blood

and i want to be sickened with myself for doing it

because i promised myself and so many others i wouldn't

but here i am

and i realize i don't care about promises anymore

i don't care about anything

they say that having a lack of motivation to do anything

is a side effect of depression

but depression is just a side effect of dying

and i'm digging through my jewelry box

trying my best to look for my old bracelets

so that i don't have to explain myself tomorrow

and i feel as though none of my words will make any sense

when i will probably read this again tomorrow night

and delete these nonsensical words for good

and start hating myself even more for everything i've ever done

whether it's right or wrong

and i can't make sense of my thoughts anymore

i don't think i'm controlling my feelings the way i want to

everything around me is slowly driving me to insanity

like i was ever sane in the first place

and all i can picture is how everyone is happily dreaming

while i'm fighting my nightmares alone

sitting on my red-tiled bathroom floor