I Knew

I think I knew it was getting bad again when a smile became more difficult to produce than a frown, and the room didn't light up when I was around.
When tears came silently,
Not creating any sound.

And I think I knew it was getting bad again
When my own internal clock stopped ticking,
And itching for joy became my favorite pastime.
When a laugh from my friends cost much more than a dime,
And I put on a smile with a grinning mouth that wasn't even mine.
 
And I understood things were getting bad again when my bed became more than a resting place and it became more like a tomb.
When I could no longer look anybody in the face and I assumed I wasn't wanted or needed.

I think I knew it was getting bad again when my pen felt too heavy to pick up and write.
When that same damn  haunted dream played in my head night after night.

So I layed there in hopes that I'll be able to see clearly and in hopes that those I love dearly will notice.

Should I keep silent and internalize what I'm going through or should I continue to release my empty screams into nothingness with tears flooding down my face?
Tell me, if I'm so important then why am I so easily replaced?

I think I knew I was getting bad again when the fog came back, the crows flew away and the darkness started to attack.
When a single conversation became exhausting and I avoided all human contact and when I began to wonder if I'll ever get my smile back.