It's week something or other
It's month.. ?
The years are endless
Every minute takes a decade.
My thoughts, are not my own, but they are. It's all mine. Trapped.

Existing, survival and pain seem to have been all that was left.

I can't live like this, but I can't die like this.

What happens when you stop holding on, and let yourself fall.

In the end it'll hurt less, surely.