I don't sleep much.
I have a hard time being artistic. I put in a little bit of my soul, in every poem, in every work of art I make. Now though, I am tired. I do not have the energy to give you myself, I do not have the balance needed to make great work. I am not okay. I have not been okay for many weeks.
I wrote something last night, in the midst of a mental breakdown. In tears, in my room, alone, in one of my darkest moments, thinking about death. Thinking about how nice death would be, how horrid it could be, how much pain it would cause. Here is the poem, i wrote it by hand. Something this personal should not be re-typed.