A sense of being hollow fills me up on the inside
Devoid of any strengths

Like a glass half full, waiting to be tipped over

Like that closet that remains unopened for years
Gathering dust on the inside
With rust on its old iron knobs
And polish wearing off on the sides

The layers of socially acceptable emotions on my face
Dressed up in a garb of colour, applied externally
Just to try to imbibe the faint idea of happiness
That seems to be running farther away from the reach of my shrivelling fingers

It feels as though the sunlight is piercing through my skin
As I sit near my windowsill in anticipation of a decision

To stay in or to step out?

For some mornings, dragging my reducing weight off of the bed is a struggle
As the sheets pull me closer to an escape
Where sleep calms my racing mind down for hours, sometimes minutes
As I wake up for the fourth time during this night,
Wondering how to fall asleep again.
And so the sombre of the moonlight that creeps in
Seems a little more comforting, a little more inviting
To breathe in isolation.

For darkness doesn’t judge.
The scars on my arms don’t seem as frightening
And the tears on my cheek — a faint highlight

And so I choose to stay in one more day
The last in a series of lasts.


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