It's Hard To Say

When you're eyes burn because you haven't slept, it's hard to say.
When you know they're red without looking in the mirror, it's hard to say.
When you crave for a bed but all you have is a chair, it's hard to say.
When you think you can't hold on much longer, it's hard to say.

It's hard to say when something snaps inside.
It's hard to say how much you want to hide.
It's hard to say what you're looking at.
It's hard to say that you won't put up a fight.

When you have nowhere to go because there's no privacy, it's hard to say.
When you long for a corner but all you have is open space, it's hard to say.
When you start to hallucinate and feel a twitch of paranoia, it's hard to say.
When you see things that were never there, it's hard to say.

It's hard to say when something wilts away.
It's hard to say how much I want to say.
It's hard to say what I am put here for.
It's hard to say that I never knew before.