that the price of my existence
would be the weight of expectation,
then I wouldn't fucking be here.
How can I focus on the life I'm supposed to lead,
when every day I struggle with existing?
that I can no longer see the light of the sun,
I can no longer hear the voices of people I love.
And I've been breaking my hands,
trying to carry the burden that I've placed on myself.
I'm so afraid of the end,
I've lead myself to believe that I may never be happy again.
is trying to justify my habitual self-deprecation,
when I am constantly surrounded
by sources of love and affection.
I know that I'm not on my own,
but I can't shake the feeling
that I'm in this alone;
there's no one that I feel safe with.
is to succumb to a sleep I'm unafraid of.
as I am told that I am loved.
May I believe, despite my doubt,
that someday I'll be good enough.
Hindsight is a miserable thing,
when you don't know where you're going
and you don't care where you've been.