what tomorrow brings.

vii. the confliction of being okay.

vii. THE CONFLICTION OF BEING OKAY.

it's quarter past twelve and you've cried yourself to sleep for the past five days yet you continue to wake up with swollen red eyes and plead that you are fine. it's when the tally marks are no longer satisfying, the gloss over drained eyes releases more than just tears. when the night seems more lonely than usual, the bathtub drains a different color red each time. it's quarter past one, you find yourself all alone. the clocks have all stopped, you're rocking yourself in a pile of dead skeletons of who used to be. marked happiness, you snap the rib cage in half. marked abused, troubled, medicated, freak. scratch a match, watch the embers of the past reach for the stars you have given up on. kiss the moon goodnight with the same arm that's numb from all the cigarette burns. it's quarter past two, you want to die but you are a coward. don't believe in a God yet you still fear the outcome. hell sounds more comforting than the roof you live under, but only for a split second. just like how the razor sounded pleasing, but only for a split second. how being hit in busy traffic was a good idea, but only for a split second.

it's quarter past three,
you've cried yourself back to sleep.