just a machine

my mind, a cloudy mess filled with screams and stress yet here I stand in the hollow night as I hold out my hand. Telling myself everything is alright, because it's the only thing keeping me alive. The anxiousness that comes from pressure, like a never-ending period of bad weather. The loudness that comes with it, the screams and noise that fill my head. It all consumes my whole, leaves me rotting and feeling out of role. The sleepless nights as anxiety keeps me awake, as if failure would be my worst mistake. The sleepless nights in which I cried, were nothing but a waste of time. I need nothing but to work, like a machine that was programmed to serve. I need to ignore my own well-being, to succeed and ignore the feeling. All those voices in my head, dragging me down as if I'd drop down dead. Drop down dead, any second, with every step I take. As each one feels like a heartache. My legs hurt, my lungs burst. Yet I have to keep walking, like a slave afraid of talking. Maybe if I'd break down, I'd be able to rest.