M(8)

Slept, awoke, slept, awoke, miserable life.

My mother keeps saying how happy I was, I'm better now.

I try to lie on my bed but I sink and drown.

I try to distract myself but I'm surrounded by it.

Is it real? Am I real?

They know, they know, they know,

But you keep pretending.

Your windows are always shut but there's so much light inside you.

Will we ever meet? Do we know each other?

I won't fall this time, either way my paintbrush was stolen, the canvas sits dry.

I've cut my hair, my hands, my legs, who am I now?

What have I become, I'm sorry.

You see, I bet you do. You know it all yet you don't speak. Why do you do so?

P.S.: The first line is a Franz Kafka diary entry.

“Slept, awoke, slept, awoke, miserable life.”

𝙹𝚞𝚕𝚢 𝟷𝟿, 𝟷𝟿𝟷𝟶.
𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙳𝚒𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝙾𝚏 𝙵𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚣 𝙺𝚊𝚏𝚔𝚊, 𝟷𝟿𝟷𝟶-𝟷𝟿𝟷𝟹.