how does one escape one’s own mind? the torturous thoughts plod their way in, pumping away until the moon cries silver tears on a spring day.
a day’s pain is measured by sadness–how much is displayed–how much is there to give?
I fall out of my bed and in line with every day calling me, and take a chance on me once again.
am I worthy? can I be more?
the breaking comes when I am least prepared and the box I am shoved in gets smaller. there is no way out.
you recognize my pain
and do nothing.
Originally published via Simily.