Bad Day.

I lie to myself until it reaches this point,

when I’m curled up under a blanket wishing the world would go away.

Don’t be upset with me, sometimes I really think I’m okay,

but I never really am, am I?

So many things revolve around me standing up,

so many "what ifs" rest around me opening that door and walking out.

Truth is, without her I would have been gone long before now.

I hate the feeling of wanting to cry, but for some reason the tears won’t come;

it’s a like a sneeze that bubbles up on the surface, but never escapes.

Of course, my whole life is a tease like that…

Why am I so small?

If I was bigger, I’d have more strength to get through days like these.

Time to go shower and avoid the mirror, my eyes are already so dead.

Is this what’s meant by "life" …