I know.
Not all mornings are pretty.
Some mornings you'd wake up with so much hatred and confusion, for the world or for yourself; you don't know.
You don't know because you're projecting. You're digressing.
You don't want to wake up. You don't want to leave the bed. Because you can't. You want to be left alone with your insanity till you're sane again.
You'd find yourself scared as heck some mornings. Cowered in a fetal position, your eyes wide, your fingers trembling; unable to write. The cause of fear unknown.
The desire for the world to disappear overpowering your senses.
I know, some mornings aren't pretty. But I want to tell you, I want to tell me,
Y-you're gonna be fine. Maybe not now, but after a while.
