Screaming through lips sealed wide-shut
Getting out of bed, should be easier than this, you think, lying under covers made out of stone.
Taking a shower, should not freeze you solid, stuck to the chair that’s creaking with age alongside your bones.
‘Water is good for you’, you keep hearing, yet it tastes like acid, going down your throat.
Saying what you need is simple, yet talking’s rather hard through lips sewn shut.
People crave people, you try to convince yourself, shying from crowds that are meant to comfort - humans do not survive alone.
‘Just try’, ‘it’s not that hard’, ‘you don’t seem sick’, ‘it’s all in your head’, well, no fucking shit, Sherlock.
Age of Enlightenment. Era of Woke. Years of Compassion and Sympathy and ‘Oh, we get it’.
Bull. Shit.
Voices in your head, they speak the loudest. Cacophony of noise that only you can hear. Poison, crawling through your veins, eats you up from inside out.
Useless, worthless, just, all around, less is what you are.
‘Get over it’, ‘others have it worse’, ‘so self-centred, aren’t you ashamed of yourself’ of-fucking-course you are.
Of-fucking-course. That’s all you are.

















