Not conscious of life.
Numbed by its disappointments.
A weak existence, one dimensional and timed.
Talking to myself, hearing my echo. Not leaving my bed.
Aware of how I talk to distract myself and experiencing how I don’t think.
Pushing it forward, but it isn’t moving.
Sick of breathing, sick of eating; sick of being.
Am I truly stuck? I’m not panicking.
Give me some time again, and you will see me back distracting myself by living.
If I didn’t pay attention, maybe time will move faster.
If my goals were not met, I’m not sadder
What if things didn’t move forward, what if nothing happened,
Stuck where only time only ticks, and it doesn’t matter.
Through a teary eye, a plain laughter and dumb expressions, screaming
something ugly that you don’t want to hear’