I cant fully express how relieved such a response makes me. This might be the most "real" poem I have ever written, at least in many long years. It's not common for me to explode outwards in an extrovert portrayal of my private live in thus way, especially not on a whim - yet thats precisely what happened. The fact that it turned out well despite having no planning behind it, just pure truth from an explosion of real feelings, amazes me. I never write without thought and due to impulse normally, but I did this time. I guess life got too real in too many ways too suddenly and I couldn't take it anymore.

I have been awake for five nights without sleep now, more or less. My meds arent working at all. Its scary. And the fact that I am alone right now, about to try and go to bed alone again, is terrifying. The fact that the poem focuses so much on my terror of just that is telling - it says alot about where i am in my life right nwo that sleeping alone is genuinely scary.

It scare me so much that this poem had to be written, I had to put all of it into words just to not be eaten alive by my circumstances. I've said in conversation and stuff before that what I typically find in my empty bed in this room void of people, wben I enter and close my eyes, is deep despair. Not because of some lack of romantic involvement in my life, but the despair goes deeper. It is more like the empty bed and the bad sleep I get there is a symbol of how fragile my bonds with people are right now. How fragile I am. I've seen so many friends die that the empty bed reminds me that I will leave it empty too, and I don't know when. These feelings grow deeper when there exists tension due to stress and overall issues beyond anyones control affecting my most precious bond in life currently too. The one I portray in the poem.

Because I've come to a point where I'm almost at an edge, and if the last precious bond breaks for any reason, will I have any reason to live any longer? Enough to justify it to myself? I can't say I am optimistic about that. But obviously I am not there yet. Still, I have a lot of legitimate reasons to be terrified-

You're so f*ing spot on. Especially on there never being any in between. That's why I struggle to write these days too. I either feel absolutely nothing at all - complete and utter apathy towards *EVERYTHING* except the fiction I engross myself in - or I find myself overwhelmed with emotions to the point of complete overload.