Mornings.

I wake up feeling like there’s an earthquake in my head

I have to get up, although I’d rather stay in bed

But if I stay any longer, it’ll just get worse

I’m tired of being cursed.

I walk around in a daze most of the day

The only thing I notice is the movement of the pain

From my head to my neck and down into my back

I don’t really know what’s going on, my senses are out of whack.

Sat in a lecture but it’s not sinking in

Fighting a mental battle that I will never win

My tutor’s lips are moving, but I can’t hear a sound

The hour’s up – I step into the crowd.

I fade away into anonymity

Stuck in my prison, it’s easy to see

The pain fuels the depression,

And my depression is my poison.