The world was slowly, but surely turning grey,

and the soul was beginning to rot.

Walls are stained with blood,

invisible to the eyes of the happy.

Sedatives no longer helping,

anti-depressants no longer working.

Bedsheets and that one lonely sweater

are forever stained wtih three things: tears, sweat, and secrets.

The mask is broken, the shards dug inside

of all limbs, not allowing to go numb.

Mind and body are tattood with

misery, agony and sadness.

Struggling to breathe.

To see.

To sleep.

Wishing for this to finally be complete.

Crying, because the decision between being gone

and have everyone happy is hard.

Only waiting for the light

is what remains.