I’m not empty.
It’s not that I don’t feel anything.
The exact opposite.

I feel so much.

So much I get desensitized to my own emotions.
They flow around like water in every corner of my body.
Mixing in with my blood until there is no cell untouched.

It used to be a gentle lake.
But now It’s an ocean.
So all I can do is sit here and pretend that I’m a puddle.
Just like everyone else.

I’m but a mess
Too much, and yet not enough
Constantly holding myself back

From what, I don’t know
Perhaps people knowing me too much
The true imperfections
Not just the ones I half heartily laugh about
The ones that I cry out in an attempt to warn people

No it’s probably the ones that I don’t mention
Even to myself
After they’re revealed, surely they will hate me

Leave me once again