Broken

Shit
Why is that always my first thought when i wake up?
Begrudgingly I let out a breath. (Hopefully my last)
My room is cold and the comfort of my bed calls (lies: there is no comfort).
I apply my eyeliner, auto-piloting my way through my routine, my routine never changes, it can't change. I pretend that I can't hear my mother's good morning call, as if there is anything good about this morning or anything for that matter. Today will be the same as always. Tomorrow will be the same as today. Forever will be the same.
Once again my earphones drown out the world, i want to fade into the background. But I need to stand out.
"You said you read me like a book" yeah, but I designed the cover, no one bothers to read beyond my first chapter, I wouldn't.

Each Day is just a cruel agony. I hate it, I hate living. But I'm not even living. I'm existing.

Notes

Some people might find this triggering so i'm sorry, but i'm not sorry because this is my work.