my eyes sting from flicking back and forth
from the tv to my phone,
from my notes to my texts,
from pretending to be okay
to wondering if i'm pretending to be sad.
oh shit, there it is.
or maybe it's because it's late.
because every day,
i sleep at all the wrong times.
depression naps turn 10:30 bedtimes
to 12:30 boredom.
and not much hurts more
than laying still in the middle of the night
with nothing to fill your head
except "maybe i'm not worth it."
they say busy hands make idle minds
but idle hands are the devil's tools.
in the quiet of the cavern
created by my bed sheets,
i see no devil here.
there is only me.
or maybe they're the same thing.
because i see no one else here.
if i'm hurting,
who else could it be but me,
hurting myself?
KAMU SEDANG MEMBACA
Open To Interpretation
PuisiThis is a collection of some of my old poems, short stories, and other writing that I created a few years ago, while I was going through a really rough patch in my life. I wanted to publish it back then, but this is the best that I can do for now. E...
