• In the cold of the deep black abyss we call night,
    I lay down to rest my weary body from another day lived
    Onto a bed that feels like the beginning to a grave with it's warm
    Embraced outline of my body where it is to lay to sleep.

    Turning and rolling around within the confines of such a coffin
    Brings a sensation of distraught, unsettling emotions that will not
    Cease to exist for as long as I am to remain awake.

    Continuing to stay awake now seems to have become as mission
    For closing my eyes does nothing but stir the mind and all that has
    Been put off the rest of the day. All the Anger from failed attempts,
    The Hate in oneself that you cage for the benefit of society, The Love
    That yearns to break free but is stuck guarding your Worries that
    Seem to wander around everywhere causing havoc and releasing wandering
    Demons.

    Staring at the blank cealing breathing in the air that seems to induce a
    Atmosphere that chokes you with your own thoughts and misery hidden. Restlessness
    Brews around and the pillows once heartening now an annoyance with their
    Rough texture and burning sensation. The blanket once giving a feeling of safety
    Gives now a feeling that death will soon approach with glee.

    Throwing it off, gasping for air, struggling to live,
    Holding back the screams, stopping the tears from arriving.
    This time is a rememberance of a time where I believed I was Broken.

    This time now is like the time then. Uneasiness with whatever I do or
    Think. Where I was once empty and nothing else mattered. Happiness
    Fell from my vocabulary and survival was now a necessary term of endearment,
    With a small hope that there was actually meaning in the word "survive."
    That there was a point to the word and an outcome that would benefit the
    Rest of those around me. As it seemed a flatline was the only way to bring back
    Joy to relatives and friends surrounding my unlucky situation.

    This here now in the coffin of my room, of my bed, lies a calling for
    Saving from this panic attack and insomnia. Tonights restiveness only brings
    A deeper, darker pothole to riverbanks under my eyes. It only brings more
    Blood to the sight where people stare and expect to see pleasure in my
    Contentment with what has come to pass.

    Though tired and on the edge of breaking, the river still continues to
    Steal the little bit of sand that is within me down to the bottom of a waterfall
    That ends on the dirt bed where I try to rest in peace.

    I think to myself why all of these emotions? What is the need for them?
    Why do I have them? Realizing it is one of those things that make us human; But
    How human is it to feel empty? Something missing from your chest- that
    Muscle that used to lay between my lungs and protected by my ribs no longer
    Has a pulse which the rest of my body can feel.

    With all of these sentiments being aroused inside of me, my clothes on the outside
    Have a determination to strangle me by the neck, by the waist, by my arms,
    By my legs. Bearing with this feeling is no longer tolerable and I must shred these
    Clothes and recumberate to a state where I can be "relaxed". A place where
    Normality isn't an complete impossibility.

    The night goes on and this queen sized bed does not shrink. It still
    Remains empty. The missing piece to this bed struggles as I do, to find
    Safety but does not know where to find it for neither do I. Instead the
    Springs within the bed that hold it up begin to crumble and a hole begins
    To engulf the outling of the container in which used to hold my lost soul.

    Silence is very painful in the sense that it doesn't help the present
    Condition but only adds to an undead sensation. No light, no sound, no
    Connection; Just me and my memories that forcefully shred their way into
    The rest of my body like a serraded knife inching it's way into wood,
    Slowly but surely to death.