What a wretched thing it is,
To be me.
For I crave the very pain,
That makes me wish death upon myself.
I seek silence
Where darkness and light sprout,
But all my bulbs break
And I cannot sleep.
I can't run,
Because tentacles of anxiety grapple my ankles till I bleed.
Pain washes over my body and the dreams that keep me alive,
Come rushing out as tears.
Slow cold drops that freeze on my lips so I cannot scream.
I dart my hands into the infinity of darkness,
But I only grasp carcasses of spiders rotting in their webs.
I close my eyes
I wake up to reality
Nothing changes
Only that,
Every second of torture is now on the inside.
Outside, am as normal as they say I am.
Elliepoet
