My Head’s Done In

My Head’s Done In

My head’s done in, and I can feel it sinking,

Like a weight tied tight and thrown too deep,

No surface left to reach for, no light to follow,

Just the pull of something I cannot fight.

Every thought feels bruised before it begins,

Every word carries a crack through its core,

I try to stand straight inside my own mind,

But the ground keeps shifting beneath me.

I am tired in a way sleep cannot touch,

A deep, grinding ache that sits in my bones,

no matter how still I stay, how quiet I am,

It does not loosen, it does not leave.

People say it will pass, that it always does,

But they do not hear what I hear inside,

The constant strain, the breaking tension,

The sound of something giving way.

I hold my head like I can keep it together,

As if my hands could stop the unraveling,

But it slips through my fingers all the same,

Piece by piece, thought by thought.

Even the mirror avoids my eyes now,

Or maybe it is me who looks away first,

I do not recognise the person staring back,

Worn down, hollowed out, barely holding on.

Still, I wake, I move, I carry what I can,

Because stopping feels too close to ending,

And somewhere, buried beneath the damage,

There is a part of me that refuses to disappear.

My head’s done in, but I am still here,

Still breathing, still breaking, still trying,

And maybe that is all that remains,

But maybe, just maybe, it is enough.

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