is my body finally breaking down?
my eyes want to sleep,
my legs stumble with every step.
my hands grow weary of writing,
and my chest stings with every breath I take.
it hurts, but I expect no sympathy.
I think I brought it onto myself,
wouldn't you say? you tell me.
Late nights of contemplation over stupidity of my own regard
and overindulging in hopes of making myself to feel good,
it's not working.
if anything, trying to push through the days,
to ignore everything and everyone,
has only made things worse.