I'm well

Me? Well I'm well. 
Well I mean I'm in hell. 
Well, I still have my health.


_{At least that's what they tell me.}
If wellness is this, 
what in hell's name is sickness?






Tired...tired of being yelled at...tired of people expecting me to get out of their way...tired of people lying to me...tired of getting hurt...tired of remembering...tired of feeling like shit...tired of being told that I'm not good enough...tired of regretting...tired of this empty feeling that always seems to take over...tired of people killing each other...tired of people ripping each other apart with words...tired of people not caring...tired of wishing I was dead and gone...tired of constantly being reminded of my losses..tired of being asked why I'm this way...tired of feeling so alone...tired of trying my best to find a reason for my life...tired of being told that these scars will fade in time...tired because I know that's not true...these scars will never fade. I'll never be able to forget.






As I shiver
in the predawn cold
    of early morning
the pain of a hundred aches
and the dryness of my eyes
conspire
to drag me down to a level
where I am tired
where I lust for sleep
how I long for
the soft grey rain
to wash away those bitter hopes
when sunrise comes and brings
  yet more things to be done