trigger warning: depictions of depression
you can’t do it. steam chokes my lungs. an endless stack of spiral notebooks, all filled up with half-baked dreams, and ideas, and things i must become. i kill a plant, and find a crack in my favourite coffee cup.
oh come on. you’re being pathetic. i scroll through my phone for hours; and black out at 2am. i can’t stop comparing myself, and i push away my friends.
but… it’s not like they wanted to see you anyway. i’ve been wearing this same outfit for days now. and i wish i could tear my skin out like old carpet, but i don’t know how. so instead, i chug yet another caffeinated beverage. i electrocute this wayward body into place. and i will work myself out of the abyss; i’ll do whatever it takes.
but i’m too tired to give a shit right now. so i cry when i lose my keys. i forget to make lunch, until my stomach screams; too busy drowning out my thoughts in ripped-up sheets of paper, and furious journal entries.
so i lie down in the bathtub while the shower’s still running. because i don’t think i have it in me to stand up.
i grab a hammer from the shed. and smash my favourite coffee cup.
