My hands tremble
as I try and hide the fact
that I’m cracking under the
pressure,
and I find myself wondering
if the meds even work;
I don’t worry any less.
Just one day more.

I’m certain the whole car
can hear my music
piercing through my headphones,
but this is the only way I can think of
to try and drown out the voice in my head
saying, “You’re not good enough.”
Just one day more.

It feels as though I’m
ever running from myself,
stumbling and falling and gaining
new injuries,
but when the monster is
inside your head,
it’s hard to escape.
Just one day more.

And he caves,
and he cries,
and he says he wants to end it,
but somehow he hangs on to my promise:
“Just one day more.”

for my creative writing class