He sleeps restlessly.

Either going days on end without it or getting a full twelve hours and still be left exhausted. He doesn't like to live. It's a hassle. Too much to handle. He simply wasn't made to go through with life.

He stirs ever so slightly. He's waking up, now. Conscious, just barely, of all the things that he left unfinished.

His eyes open. He sits up.

His hand searches the wrinkled sheets for a moment until his fingers brush against some crumpled papers haphazardly stuffed under his pillow. Smoothing them out, he quickly skims his scrawny writing. He folds the papers up and places them on top of the ever-growing stack on his nightstand.

For him, a pen and paper soothe his inner demons more than a blade ever would.

His dark eyes drifted to another unorganized pile of papers on his desk. Oh, no. His schoolwork. Three exams. Two quizzes. An oral presentation. What else? And all on the same day, no less...

He'd known weeks in advance. That was the thing, as usual. He'd known. This was his fault. His fault for not studying, his fault for not completing his work, his fault; then, now, and always.

His fault for being a complete and utter failure.

His existence was simply a waste of space. He was useless, just drifting along in the wind. He'd be better off gone.

It's a dull, useless contemplation. He's accustomed to this by now. The total lack of motivation, the feeling that he's getting nowhere, the constant numbness, the suspicion that life will end after he graduates, because what is there to do...?

Too much to handle.

He lays back down and closes his eyes, hoping that this is perhaps just a nightmare that will all be over soon.

He sleeps restlessly.