Turn off the sound of my nightmare nothings, k** the lights on my mud-soaked mornings. Leave the sun down, I don’t want to get up, could sleep forever but it’s never enough. There are moments of balance before a nosedive, of backwards clarity in suicide, or frailty in every life, and none more than mine. I’ve felt this for too long, and I can’t make it stop. And I don’t see what you mean, I’m just trying to cope. This is the best way I know. And if you’ve seen what I’ve seen, or if you’ve felt what I’ve felt, maybe you’d start to agree. I’ve felt this for too long, and I can’t make it stop. Just make it stop.