I'm so low
I wish I could say it's unfamiliar
but this place is like my old home;

here I reside and within it
a part of me dies,
every single second I spend
trapped here alive.

Everyone is thinking forward
and here I am trapped in my head
sleep, the sparse hours I receive
are the closest thing to comfort I get.

I wish I could just stay in bed.

I don't wanna die, not yet
no, not yet.
I just want to live a day where my bones don't feel like lead.

And my muscles don't feel like they'll contract
so suddenly,


and **** me on their own accord.

Or that my organs won't turn black
and start oozing from my every pore.
So when you ask me what's going on
I'll say, I'm tired, I'm stressed, I'm bored.

But in reality, I'm hurting
every part of me is sore.

Please don't worry,
and please don't stress.
I hate to see you cry.
Don't stay for me,
you'll be stuck here forever
I'm just waiting to die.