This way I live is unrelenting.
Soul shattering and heart-breaking,
Hands shaking and eyelids heavy.
Working myself to the bone every hour,
Following each and every list in my head.
Things I must do,
Things I don't even have to do but do anyway.
Certain decisions that simply make my life harder,
Yet I make them anyway.
For the satisfaction of reaching the end of the lists.
Erasing and erasing,
Making it perfect,
But it's never perfect.
So I just keep erasing and erasing,
Turning a tool into a weapon.
Repeating phrases over and over again in my head.
"You can do it."
"You are capable."
"It's not too much."
But words are just words,
And they don't stop me from becoming miserable.
Eventually, I realize that I am ripping the paper with this eraser.
Breaking away from this torture,
I feel so free.
Time starts to feel real again,
After months of convincing myself that hours are like minutes.
My body begins to heal, finally feeling real again.
The inevitable occurs.
I begin to crave the insanity.
I begin to crave the lists,
The rigor of overworking.
Every minute I spend doing something not considered "work" begins to feel like a waste of time,
Like every second of relaxation is destroying my future and wasting time.
Like every second of relaxation is destroying my future and wasting time. Time shall remain a killer.
Why does that ticking clock rip me apart?
If I can so easily break away,
Why do I keep crawling back?
It's simply because though I can break away,
I can't break free from this life...
I can't break free from this life... Yet I am grateful for it.