• theboywiththespecs 6w

    Some nights,
    the words I have within
    will rise up to my
    throat, and I’d struggle
    to breathe.
    Then, I’ll pour myself
    a glass of sleep,
    and I’ll drink it to
    myself and the spider
    in the ceiling.
    Because, you see,
    the struggle is real,
    just like the loneliness,
    and the dust on my
    spare pillow.