Why bother

My eyes are heavy and my heart is hollow,

my mind feels compressed as I have no dreams left to follow.

The blankets suffocate my feet with a warm yet umcomfortable feeling,

my arms are glued tight to the mattress as a wound is when it’s healing.

My pillow is stained from the mascara from the previous night,

I’ve left myself stranded. I can’t tell what is wrong, why don’t I feel right?

Just hours before I faced my friends with a big, bright smile.

It was fake though, it has been for a while.

Why don’t they notice when the colour has drained from my eyes?

Why don’t they ask me why I’ve hidden my sorrows with lies?

Do they not remember the person I used to be?

Do they not remember their old friend; me?

What’s the point, why should I keep trying?

There really is no reason that I should be denying,

that the old me is dead.

The paranoia pounds me, like a shot to the head.

Get up. Why bother? I have nothing to lose.

Wouldn‘t I be better off if I just drowned in my blues?

Even if I get up I’ll just be sleep walking,

and my subconscious will take over, and I’ll be auto pilot talking.

No one would notice if I didn’t leave my comfort zone,

because they aren’t the ones left lying here alone.

My thoughts stab my gut, telling me I have no place.

Maybe they‘re right. I’ll just quit the race...

But then I feel a sensation of joy,

and there on my floor sits patiently my good boy.

His eyes look at mine, and I know he sees my struggle.

He nudges forward, a good boy who gives the best cuddles.

And then I remember. My purpose. My only day’s important goal,

is getting out of bed to put food in my dog’s bowl.