Walls.

A quiet illness.
4am and you tell yourself you'll do something other than stare at the walls when the sun comes up. "They're not gawna change, man!"
But they do, as the light in the room changes and the sun bathes the walls in it's pretty warmth, and all of a sudden, you're lost in nothing again.
It's getting on midday and you've done nothing but smoke a few cigarettes, or maybe more than a few... And stare endlessly into the walls.
"What are you feeling?"
Meh, boredom, addiction, guilt... A little tired too. But who cares? The walls aren't going to stare at themselves, are they!?
The silence has you in a chokehold. The eery noise the refrigerator omits... And it's getting dark again.

This is a wasted day.

This is boredom, guilt, addiction... A litle tired too.

This is sloth, depression and sheer laziness.

But what can you do?
The walls arent going to stare at themselves.