No apparent reason.

Nothing beats waking up in the morning, and not wanting to get out of bed.

Because you realize what you’re going to step into, once you step out of bed.

Asking yourself if there is a point. Hoping the night could’ve gone on for longer. Hoping the sun would’ve waited.

But it doesn’t. And it never will.

Nothing beats staring at yourself in the mirror after crawling out of bed.

With a cigarette in your hand, and the smoke over shadowing your reflection.

Fighting fire with fire. The one inside you, and the one between your fingers.

Nothing beats staring into your own eyes, and not liking what you see.

Like looking into yourself, and not finding what you’re really looking for.

For searching, but not knowing what it is you expect to find.

Floating in nothingness, and for no apparent reason.

No apparent reason.

Agony.