sleep your troubles away until your eyes blur

sundays are bad days

i stare at sharp edges, sharp objects
and turn away, 
eyes closed of their own volition

i shudder and shake,
head rolling on my neck

i remember the darker times.
when i would stare at the walls and my eyes would water
but i would not turn away

they never tell you that depression
is so much more than sadness

it is self-loathing
and picking yourself apart
until all the king's horses and all the king's men

cannot do anything to save you
unless you try desperately to save yourself

this is a one-man

kill your dreams if you want to survive,
force menial tasks out of your hands,
talk until your lips bleed

because i know you haven't had a shower in a week.
go run water over your shoulders,
knees, the dip of your collarbones, the creases of your face

and yes, eating is hard.
but you must choke dry bread down your throat,
drink apple juice even though you can't taste it

soot clogs your joints, i remember,
but you have to scrub yourself clean of old obligations
and accept that some things you cannot fix

you do have time to brush your teeth
please go back
the clock will not go any faster that it is now

stop picking at your nails
you can't feel pain
or maybe you can and that's why you do it

your lips are cracked and dry
stop just letting them bleed
rub balm into them and soothe

get up. 
i know, i know, i know, 
you do not want to, but you must

and finally, sleep. 
sleep until the days run together
and you can't remember which way is up

i know how it feels 
when you can't even tell the difference
between being awake and asleep
except for the abundance of pain

and do not let anybody tell you it is nothing
but be careful to never believe that it is everything

i promise you, 
it is not. 


The End

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