As others run forward,
barely able to move,
crying out for help,
unable to pick yourself up.
"Living" a sepulchral existence.
Stuck wondering how to pick up the pieces,
shattered on the floor,
trying your best to not cut yourself in the process.
Refusing to fall under another label,
but questioning if this is really worth it.
Whether to simply give in
and enter a narcotic and opiate world.
Lost,
and unsure how you got to where you are.
Still unheard.
Help beyond the grasp of dreams.
Muffled,
beneath the covers,
fists clenched,
screams silenced.
Nothing but a burden,
better off alone.
Crippled,
by tears.
