A fourth day spent in bed this week Today I only arose to eat my evening meal, to sustain myself Yesterday, I didn’t even bother
The hours blur together, and the days blur together, and the weeks blur together Routine is both vital to my existence and soul destroying Do I have a purpose? Was I born to die?
Does it even matter?
Tomorrow I will stand alone in a dark room and spill my problems to twenty strangers Under the disguise of artistic expression