Unwell

I don't sleep well.
And there are many secrets, of which I won't tell.
Some are yours, most are mine.
My most common is what lies behind my, "I'm fine."
I don't eat well.
It's your voice and in my head is where it dwells.
I skip that meal.
In the hopes that it will change how I feel.
I've started to relish in this pain.
Maybe this is all in vain.
Too tired to try, be angry, cry...
But am I still too stubborn to die?
Paranoia has been lurking again.
It hits me as the sun sets and the dark creeps in.
I hold my breath in the hopes it won't find me.
But it knows all my hiding spots, I'll never be free.
So I live sleep deprived, and scared with just enough pain to take the edge off.
But it does no good, the pain and fear ruin every high with a huff and a puff.