Some days are spent with,
scribbles on paper with pen.
My life runs through my mind,
but I cannot write any of it down.

Some days are spent with
hours wasted staring out the window.
Watching as the wind blow,
but I cannot find the strength to move.

Some days are spent with,
shadows on my wall.
Unlike me, they know how to stand up tall,
but I cannot find the motivation to join them.

Some days are spent with,
whole series watched in a single day.
Darken room without a stroke of the sun’s rays,
but I cannot find the enjoyment in what I do.

Some days are spent with,
desperate attempts at outside contact.
Doing all I can to get a conversation going,
but I cannot overcome my fear of pushing people away.

Some days are spent with,
red ink all over my paper.
Stained with my blood and tears,
but I cannot find the power to end it all just yet.