I sit there doing my work,
Barely so,
While my heart sinks,
It\'s a strange situation,
Trying to outrun the darkness but it resides in my bones and my skin .
I keep on writing and my heart keeps sinking lower,
And sinking,
And sinking,
And sinking,
Until I feel it in my stomach,
Until there\'s a weight on my chest,
Until I feel the darkness build up inside me ,
Unbearably so,
Until that is all I know.
And suddenly I can\'t continue doing my work,
It feels a burden too heavy for me to carry,
Introspection feels like a curse,
For i am aware that my work is actually not that hard,
Yet I sit here with incomplete pages,
Under that knowledge I am crushed and buried.
I sit surrounded by piles of paper and what I believe is my cowardice,
Others seem to be able to do it with ease,
But not me,
I lie there like a defected product in haunted factories.
\" I\'m a failure\" ,
A thought repeating like a chant in a cult,
Until it becomes a core belief of mine,
What do you do when you\'re so crippled; yet not even an adult?
My heart is sinking,
How do I save it?
How do I save myself?
Help me please,
Help me get out of the quicksand I\'m stuck in,
How long will I pretend to be alive in these cemeteries?
Some days, the darkness gets to me ,
And I have no choice but to let myself bleed onto the paper,
Until the paper turns black,
Yet I never seem to run out of the darkness,
No matter what I do.