Closed Mic Night

Can or Cannot

I wake up with only the thought to sink deeper into my bed because of my tiredness of feeling sad, utter hopelessness is seemingly becoming the colour of my walls, and I feel constricted, drowning in sorrow.

This 'sad' is turning my brain into waste because exactly what is to wake up and hope the sun burns you, that God forget about for a mere millisecond and let you slip up...maybe the cupboards in my heaven sanctuary are still being dusted off.

I dont know my ABC, my left to right because SAD is all that I feel.

I feel consumed by this wickedness.

I am...stuck, paralyzed, I see you here, smiling with your palm out to reach mine, I can't get to you, I am paralyzed, this sickness has disguised itself as the embodiment to my limbs, I know you see I am tied down, please unburden me.

I wonder how it feels to write happy...how to love your work because you are proud of what that pen is releasing, must feel tingly, I am tired of writing sad, I want to say for once, my day blossomed, I wore pink not black, I saw the sun rise, It was beautiful.

Am I bound to write sad?
Or am I to find you happy?

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