I lie there in bed and as I watch the light seep in
I realise I'm not dead and I lived through the night and as I think that I'm finally deep in
Sleep.
My alarm rips me out of it and I lie there, too unmotivated to get up but too terrified to stay,
it's a strange feeling that grips me and I doubt it will go away.
Once up, I blink at the light and choose what I will wear today.
Once in, I think that I might skip breakfast, I don't care today.
I get through my day with my smile to protect me, to hide me, to break me. I don't get a say, meanwhile they see what I want them to see.
They don't know and I don't need them to. I put on my show and keep pretending I'm who they need, too.
Getting back, it's only a little longer left. It's starting to crack and the pain grows stronger as I work myself into dispair to distract my mind from the emptiness there and the dull ache from pretending and being this fake version of a person who I don't even know and who mocks me with their wonderful terrible show while my mind swings to and fro from emptiness to fear to overwhelming sadness and please can anybody hear m
And it's time for bed.
I rip it away from me.
And I rest my pounding head.
And I close my eyes but I can still see.
That I have to do all this again.
Tomorrow.
YOU ARE READING
Monsters
Poetry"A bunch of poems about mental illness" didn't sound great as a title, but that's basically what this is. This is my first book and I honestly just wrote these in my notes app, went "Screw it," and posted them. If these don't correlate to specific e...
