When's the last time,
I've slept peacefully?
Everyday,
Staying up till the wee hours,
When all is dead and quiet,
Sleep is so far away.
My mind is anything but quiet,
Generating tremendous amounts,
Of loud, messy, jumbled sound.
I no longer know,
Which voice to listen to,
This state of confusion,
Eats at me,
Inside out,
My skin a mere shell,
My insides are dug hollow.
Is this crippling depression?
They say it's not,
I'm just being delusional,
An angsty teen seeking attention,
But that's just the tip,
Of the iceberg blocking the way,
To the freedom to control my thoughts,
To the ability to sleep without,
The taps behind my eyes turning on,
And my tears gushing out,
Staining and wetting my soft pillow.
It's too real,
It's no longer non-fiction,
Stark reality way too clear and defined,
Where do I go from here?
I'm sitting on the lowest tier,
My thoughts,
My dreams,
My little fractured memories,
All lay on the higher tiers,
And I carry the weight.
The weight of my skin and bones,
Has never felt lighter.
I'm suffocating,
Myself.
Adults say I do not know,
What hardship is like,
I'm overreacting.
My throat closing up,
My lips turning blue,
The blood drips on the bathroom floor,
I'm such a drama queen.
All this is just a phase,
I am indeed overreacting,
A mental illness,
A mere teenage fiction.
Bottles,
Pills.
Water,
Swallow.
Drowsy,
Sleep.
An endless cycle,
There's no more to that,
Then why bother living,
If pain just hits you,
Time and again?
The grotesque scars,
Judges of the world they call,
Are breathtaking instead to me.
I drew them,
My pretty little pictures.
Build up my walls,
Shut everything out,
Ending the phase,
By speaking eloquently,
The language of,
Looming, relapsing, everlasting,
Pain within.
