Poetry: I'm a Battleground

I'm always sick.
My eyelids are dollar sized as they droop down my face,
weathered by lack of sleep,
looking beaten as I'm beaten.
My mind fights my mind which yells at my heart.
There's no consistency.
There's no start.
It all just circulates
Circulates
Circulates
Too fast
My brain is whirring
Gotta hold my head,
Palms over my eyes cause it's driving me crazy
What even is me?

I may just be sitting on the ground hiding my eyes
But I'm dying.
My insides shrivel
All the salt leaves my eyes
What's left?

All I want to do is gulp down salt water till I throw up
Barf till I die
Pass out on the cold tile floor
People wouldn't find me for days

That's not what I want

Hold me
I'm lost
I'm alone
I can't bear this

I can't stand myself
The combat increases with time

My body weakens

I start coughing
Will there be blood today?

I sleep without rest
No rest for the wicked
(And the righteous don't need it?)
I wake up
Feeling worse than before

It doesn't matter the time
Today is gone

Lost to the battleground.