My room is a mess, but so is my head. So is my schedule, my grades, my life, and sometimes I wish I could just be dead. The voices getting way too loud, they never failed seeking around. The tears keep falling and falling, and the pain is only growing. A little hope is what's left, still breathing softly in my chest. It flickers weak beneath the weight, yet somehow finds it's way through a small gate. Maybe tomorrow won't be kind, maybe peace is hard to find. But if this light can barely stay, I'll guard its spark another day.