Cried out eyes.

You know the ones.
Red rimmed, prickling.
Heavy yet light.
They blur the edges between...
Well, between practically everything.
Your mouth may say joy,
But your eyes won't comply.
Your soul has drained out,
And lingers on your lashes.
In your hair.
On your fingertips.
At the very peak of your nose.
And you only really stop,
When you've shed so much,
You've forgotten what it means to be happy.

I am.

I am the world's most horrible person.
Bow down and wonder at my powers of destruction.
No happiness or peace lives here,
Only sorrow and misery.

You want me to smile?
Here, the Joker says hello, happy now?
But really, why so serious?
Oh! Well that would be because I have no soul!

My only aim in life is to tear people to shreds.
To gut them and draw them out,
Enlightening them to the horror of the human condition.
Cruel, but kind.

I will make you cry and seethe,
I will make you question your own existence,
I will make you wish you never met me,
And I will do so using sarcasm.

So unbelievably tired.

So tired of not being able to control my brain and my body, no matter how hard I try.

Sick.

I'm sick,
so sick.
Sick of feeling like my life is a joke.
Like there is some higher being out there,
cramming as many clichés as possible,
into the shortest amount of time they can.

I'm tired,
so tired.
Tired of wanting to switch off my life.
Like that bad tv show everyone hates,
because it's so unrealistic and exaggerated,
but it's happening to me.

I'm lost,
so lost.
Lost and losing and losing and lost.
Like a forgotten favourite toy,
shoved to the back of the cupboard,
screaming to be held.