Numb

I'm tired of my nights getting more desolate in each passing hour until 3 a.m. where my every nightmare are at its peak. And tomorrow, waking up to another day takes the last bits of energy left from the battle I faced until daybreak. Still amidst the exhaustion, I must live aimlessly like a dried leaf drifting with the flow of life.

I'm wary of the days that's supposed to be my rest but then, they only worsen the isolation as I lay on my bed with overthinking as my company. And the days will pass by without making any sense—it'll leave me unmoving, like a statue standing still and quiet while it suffers, skin corroded by the seasons it had endured.

I'm worn of sunrises and sunsets for they both look the same to me now like how I confused sorrows with happiness for I forgot how to distinguish them. And the clock will trun as each second make no difference, it's almost as if my mind is stuck somewhere where time is non-existent—where all I know is these countless of messed up thoughts and all I feel is absolute nothing.