Less and More

The older I get the quieter I talk, and the louder the voice in my head gets.

I smile less and sleep more,

Eat less and drink more,

Leave the lights off more, and spend less time awake.

I have no friends because no one understands my reasons why I do these things, And I can't blame anyone for this pain other than myself.

There is no survival guide that can help me.

Welcomed my demons and they got scared of what was behind all of my walls

Then they ran away faster than the speed of light

Just like how you did the first time I took a step towards you.

Looking back I think you knew what I was before I figured it out. 

I joke less and avoid people more.

Pray less and listen more.

Love less and hate more.

I stop writing, and talking hoping it would cure me of my fear of admitting the truth about the real me. 

Now I think I'll begin again because I no longer care what my purpose is and the beauty of this world.

I only begged to god once and he never replied and that's when Satan gave me a hint of why. 

The older I get the more understand and the less I question my darkness