Burning Ceilings

I like to stare at the ceiling when I am sad; because it is better than waiting for a slumber that will never come to me.
I think I began to fantasize about being dead when I turned thirteen, and I didn't even realize that it wasn't healthy until it was too late and the thoughts had already buried themselves under my skin.

The darkness welcomes me when I want it, and I crave it because it is so familiar.
I like to stare at the ceiling when the bad thoughts come, because at least then it keeps me from falling into the nothingness that follows me everywhere I go.
I don't like to sleep alone anymore, because when I am alone the thoughts come more often.

I like to stare at the ceiling when I'm sad, because at least then I am not waiting for a slumber that will never come to me.
And I like the feeling of burning eyes and heaving empty chests with everything to lose but absolutely nothing to gain.

I like to stare at the ceiling at night until my eyes begin to burn and finally my brain cries out no more, I like to feel so empty that all my body could ever crave is heaviness.
I don't look in the mirror anymore, because I am too afraid of who or what will be staring back at me.

I, am stuck staring at the ceilings, counting the labored breaths my lungs force me to do
Inhale, Exhale; and even then, I am wishing for them to stop, for me and all the pain I am carrying around to cease to exist.
I am wishing for me, to cease to exist.
But instead, I am stuck here doing the same fucking thing;
Staring at burning ceilings until sleep slithers into my bed and pulls me under.