I couldn't think of anything to write today
no really i mean i didn't know what to write so i just kept going on til i got bored
My page is empty, my mind is numb
And every thought I think seems dumb.
Or just dumbed-down, like network T.V.,
But there's no tragedy left in me—
The only tragedy left is me.
So I write about the thought of not
Having anything to write, a jot
Of ink smudged across this page of mine,
Filled with snippets of thoughts I'd mined—
My every thought blurred, an ink smudged mind.
What's the point of hitting the point of
Being suicidally depressed, love
Feels like a distant dream in my head.
I can't sleep, but I live in my bed—
Haunted by the void beside me in bed.
I turn up the sound to drown out this
Static on loop in my head: "sssss,"
Stop that, I'm being driven insane.
It's all in my mind, even this pain—
As I look at life through a clouded pane.
Even though the window is too small,
The latch works; opened up with a haul.
I can't leave, but I can hear outside
And my anxiety turns aside—
It whispers, "Hurry up and pick a side."
Anxiety always wins this game;
It's one-sided, like a matchhead's flame,
But even that will burn my fingers
If held too long and left to linger—
Closing the window, I'm left to linger.
I don't play with matches though, unless
A cigarette counts as one, I guess.
I really should smoke less and write more,
Both vices for vices I abhor—
They're my only friends when life is a bore.
It's not that I can't have fun, instead
I'm alone in my head, in my bed
Trying my best to hide from the sun,
And I feel like depression has won—
It's lonely in here, this world made of one.
I'm not the only one in it, just,
I've lost sight of my feelings and trust.
I can't trust that they'll come back to me:
My blurred mind finds it too hard to see—
As the waters slowly rise in my sea.
so many cheesy lines in this but i just kinda went with whatever
like every stanza is just built on whatever i said in the last one lol