When Should I Stop?

my mind- a whirlpool of thoughts

my feelings- just caught in the vortex

every time i close my eyes, it feels like I’ll drown

and so i open my eyes gasping for breath

but even with straining eyes there comes nothing within sight

except haze, mist, smoke and fog

i can’t focus on one thing

so i stay focused on not staying focused

is it sadness?

is it fatigue?

is it imagined?

is it real?

is it me?

Or is it null?

i want to change; not myself but my situation

i want to feel better

but then why do i feel so comfortable this way?

i feel this is where i’m truly meant to be

i feel this is what i am

but then why do i feel i can be so much more?

it is all chaos

one wave after the other

crashes on the shore of my mind

emanating from the depths of my soul

washing away what i began writing on the sand

making me sink deeper into it

and as i bend to write again

there comes another one

different from the previous one and possibly the next one

they keep coming

each new but the feeling is the same

after all the water is all the same

different sound for each wave

but the rhythm is the same

it’s not refreshing

it’s harsh

it pricks my skin

my chapped lips hurt

it’s nauseating

i want to sleep

and not get up again

i don’t think about wanting to die

it’s just that

i can’t lie about wanting to live

i’m not hope-less

i’m just tired

i’m not giving up

i’m trying

it’s not that i don’t find

reasons enough to make me live

it’s just that i don’t find

reasons exciting enough to make me look forward to living

i don’t want to escape

i want to get through this

i know i will

but i hope it’s not too late

i don’t like to see the straight line my lips form

i don’t like to see the tired eyes in my reflection

why do i only see that one thing

which others can’t see in them?

why does folding my legs seem such a task

after i’ve been sitting straight a long time

that my lips let out a heavy sigh?

why does moving my fingers tempt me

to think about ways i can avoid the task?

why does the act of cleaning my messy table repulse me so much

that i prefer to clean my mind first even

though the former is visibly easier?

i don’t know when i should stop

is it when my eyelids beg me

to let them blanket their lover

so they do not have to strain

figuring out the meaning of this chaos?

or is it when the black of these alphabets

seems darker than what lies within me

which caused these alphabets to be laid such..?

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