On some days, waking up feels
Like a task that can defeat mammoths,
As if your soul is dead inside
And now it's being infested by
Ants and drosophila that are
Puncturing your previously hollowed self.
Your body reeks of failures,
From having flunked exams,
To letting people turn you into
A doormat over and over again
So you wonder if the universe is telling you
That success is at the end of a bottomless pit.
Trying to get yourself to sleep
Is like trying to achieve your goals
But for that, you'll need to
Run up the staircase of hierarchy,
Meeting memories, long lost people,
And pain throughout the steps.
And when at times you manage to
Sleep without guilt pushing into you
Like a rusty but still sharp knife
That drills into your neck slowly,
Nightmares of your existence
Self-care is now no longer
Bubble baths with lavender bombs,
But rather staying back home
Till people eventually forget you
And you don't have to face them anymore.
Your therapist asks you to
Feel your feelings and let it all out
But how do you explain that
The more you feel, the more you sink in
The vastness of your overthinking mind
That eventually pushes you into a void?