stress-filled days and stress-filled nights.
dreams of horror and dreams of beauty.
blurring into one until you can no longer differentiate between the good and the bad and the ugly.
i can't tell the difference anymore.
reality and dreams.
good and evil.
day and night.
light and dark.
everything is just one big mess in my head now and i don't know how to split them back up.
what's the point of telling them apart anyway?
stress makes your stomach do flips and somersaults until you feel the bile rising in the back of your throat.
it makes you think about everything you've never accomplished.
it makes you physically ill.
the room starts spinning and suddenly you're laying on the floor.
it cripples you with fear.
stress is always there.
reminding you what happens when you inevitably fail.
and when you do finally fail, how nobody could ever love you.
what's the point of fighting it when it's always right?
YOU ARE READING
Behind My Eyes.
Poetrycome pick my mind and stay awhile, make yourself comfortable. it's awfully lonely in here. - inside this book, you'll find five distinct parts: simply me, which tells you almost everything you need to know about me. you, which tells you...
