It's not that.
It's a trap.
It's not leaving the house all weekend.
It's getting home from work and immediately laying down, and not going to sleep.
It's not going to sleep.
It's still not going to sleep.
It's sleeping for twelve hours and waking up exhausted.
It's being exhausted constantly.
It's being in a decent mood and deciding to cut your skin a little because it's a new feeling, a vibrant, living feeling and, God, it's been a while.
It's constantly distracting yourself from any introspection, contemplation, because all roads lead to Rome, and Rome is dead.
It's the rare game of Russian Roulette.
It's not joking about the little things, and always joking about the fatal things.
It's not letting anyone know you.
It's not asking out the girl at whateveritis because you know you'd be an affliction.
It's loving your friends and family and ignoring them for weeks.
It's being embarrassed about nearly every aspect of yourself.
It's eating shitty food, and lot's of it.
It's laziness.
It's having a filthy house, car, body, mind, soul.
It's the shades always drawn.
It's losing everything you're proud to be.
It's having a great day, a really great day, and knowing your going right back off the cliff tomorrow.
It's looking out from inside, with a telescope.
It's anonymity.
It's feeling naked all the time.
It's loneliness.
It's getting used to loneliness.
It's forgetting so much.
It's resetting the concept of normality.
It's acting normal.
It's second-guessing your acting skill.
It's feeling like your skin is on wrong.
It's knowing most compliments are given you in total ignorance of the truth.
It's the face in the mirror being remote, some kind of movie magic facade that let's you pass for a person.
It's being 'hollow, stuffed, headpiece filled with straw.'
It's being a coward.
It's doubt.
It's confusion.
It's helplessness.
It's longing.
It's pushing on the ocean.
It's pushing on the sea.
It's hiding.
It's fear.
It's attrition.
It's never going to end.
It's never going to end.
It's wanting to stop, somehow.
It's needing to stop.
It's needing to go.
It's hope become horror.
It's a trap.
It's not leaving the house all weekend.
It's getting home from work and immediately laying down, and not going to sleep.
It's not going to sleep.
It's still not going to sleep.
It's sleeping for twelve hours and waking up exhausted.
It's being exhausted constantly.
It's being in a decent mood and deciding to cut your skin a little because it's a new feeling, a vibrant, living feeling and, God, it's been a while.
It's constantly distracting yourself from any introspection, contemplation, because all roads lead to Rome, and Rome is dead.
It's the rare game of Russian Roulette.
It's not joking about the little things, and always joking about the fatal things.
It's not letting anyone know you.
It's not asking out the girl at whateveritis because you know you'd be an affliction.
It's loving your friends and family and ignoring them for weeks.
It's being embarrassed about nearly every aspect of yourself.
It's eating shitty food, and lot's of it.
It's laziness.
It's having a filthy house, car, body, mind, soul.
It's the shades always drawn.
It's losing everything you're proud to be.
It's having a great day, a really great day, and knowing your going right back off the cliff tomorrow.
It's looking out from inside, with a telescope.
It's anonymity.
It's feeling naked all the time.
It's loneliness.
It's getting used to loneliness.
It's forgetting so much.
It's resetting the concept of normality.
It's acting normal.
It's second-guessing your acting skill.
It's feeling like your skin is on wrong.
It's knowing most compliments are given you in total ignorance of the truth.
It's the face in the mirror being remote, some kind of movie magic facade that let's you pass for a person.
It's being 'hollow, stuffed, headpiece filled with straw.'
It's being a coward.
It's doubt.
It's confusion.
It's helplessness.
It's longing.
It's pushing on the ocean.
It's pushing on the sea.
It's hiding.
It's fear.
It's attrition.
It's never going to end.
It's never going to end.
It's wanting to stop, somehow.
It's needing to stop.
It's needing to go.
It's hope become horror.