In a world where thoughts collide,
Heavy as ink, they spill inside,
Like a knocked-over well, chaos flows,
Each drop a whisper of all that I know.
I wake to the morning with a silent scream,
A battle of echoes, shattering the dream,
Creativity's mask feels like a disguise,
A shell of existence, a phantom in cries.
Destined for more, I yearn to be free,
Yet the ties that once bound me are severed, you see,
Hope feels like shackles, a jest in the night,
A flicker of light that won't shine too bright.
Forget getting out of bed—let's cut to the chase,
The thoughts scream "ugly," "you don't have a place."
Like a creature hidden behind a locked door,
My mental illness bleeds; it spills on the floor.
Floating through spaces that hunger for gold,
Broke and alone, with a heart growing cold,
I chase after dreams, but the mirrors reflect,
"I'm not pretty enough," a cruel self-defect.
Ideas swirl like a tempest inside,
Yet the ways to create seem to wither and hide,
I want to climb out, to rise from this pit,
But the weight pulls me down; I'm tired of it.
In this battle, a switch I construct,
Flick it to silence, but chaos erupts,
Like a child, you return, turning knobs with a grin,
Anger at me, at the place that I'm in.
You're the voice of my longing, my sorrow, my fear,
Afraid of the dark but too tired to steer,
An unhealthy dance with the food that I crave,
You tell me I'm fat, and I feel like a slave.
So here we are, you and I, in this fight,
Two shadows entwined, lost in the night,
I know you're weary; I feel it too,
Just let me go, please; I'm begging you.
