I’m tired of being okay then nothing at all.
Always waiting for the final foot to fall.
Is there a reason I cant comply,
with the will to live and not to die.
Every time I leave this room,
everything always happens too soon.
Always alone among the crowds.
Even silence feels a bit too loud.
Scattered things across the floor,
the reminders I could do more.
Dirty clothes and undone glass.
Any happiness isn’t meant to last.
I wake up and go back to sleep,
but no dreams come when I’m in deep.
Call me when the sun starts to rise,
and maybe I’ll try to be alive.