I dont know what to call it. Confessions?

A Poem by shoaib rafi

I used to drink my pain away,
but nowadays, I don’t have a coping mechanism at all.
I just sleep.
I just sleep whenever I feel like my world is falling down.
Sometimes I sleep for 20 hours or more. Because when I wake up, everything is unchanged, and the people around me are still unbothered.

Sometimes, I look into the broken mirror.
I see a face between the cracks,
a face filled with holes and pores,
and in those holes and pores, pus and parasites.
A lonely, decaying body.
Half rotten, the other half waiting to rot.
A swollen face.
A swollen chest.
Eyes like tumors.
A body reeking of tar, sweaty nicotine, and cheap cigarettes.

"Enough of this rotten body," I say to myself.
Then I drag myself back to the sweaty sheets, and I sleep.