Excuse me sir, but
"Heartbreak" isn't metaphor
It's physical pain.

“If I say I wouldn't be hostile,
could you say you would do the same?
If we're all made just a little bit broken,
tell me who is to blame?”

We’ve all got battle scars,
wounds from fights we’ve already lost.
You made me promise not to get this bad,
but I can’t seem to control myself around you anymore.

The voices are building up,
I promised,
and I’m still not taking back my word,
but you’ve turned your back.
And you left me in the dark.

I thought I loved you,
but I realized this whole time I was wrong.
I break at the mere mention of your name,
driving my entire life downhill.

I’m always going to be,
a broken imperfect mess.
I tried to change for you,
but there’s nothing else to change.

I’m a damaged marionette,
lying in your disapproving hands.
But this won’t be my defeat.
With my bones exposed,
I stand up and fight.

Fighting for my life back,
for all I want to be.
I might have lost the battle,
but I’m going to win the war.

Lets see how much you need me.

I’m done playing your endless games,
find a different pawn,
I’m through.

“If I say I wouldn't be hostile,
could you say you would do the same?
If we're all made just a little bit broken,
tell me who is to blame?”

Most people don't make it past my shyness
to see that i am a pretty cool person

Im actually really funny and am a loyal friend
but you will never know
because you gave up on me

your loss.

I'm screaming.
My glottis has stopped the air form moving, but trust me,
It's there.
With pressure.

My eyes are about to pop out.

I think I'll take that one step further,
                                                        ­        one day.
Out of this box,
                           into the world.
Out of my mind,
                           into my thoughts.
I think I want to get better one day,
                                                            ­  maybe.
I like being broken,
                                  it's most of what I know.
I know that touch.

“Here, have a drink,” A man slurred.
A tall, red, plastic cup of heavy smelling alcohol hovered in front of me, like a moth around the flickering flame of a candle.
The cup laughed in my face and dared me to grab it; the peer pressure pouring off of the drunk’s lips was like a buzzing fly that wouldn’t leave me alone.
“No thanks,” I told him.
“C’mon, it’s just one drink.”
I sighed, because I’d been down this road before.
Because just one drink can’t hurt anything, right?
It’s just one.
One that allows a drunken ******* who otherwise has no control over women besides offering ‘just one drink.’
But the flashback that started playing inside my head was a movie screen that felt like a drive-in film where everyone was welcome to watch.
Except they couldn’t.
These drunken “friends” on the TV inside my head who I’d been with a few months ago had wandered off with their own boyfriends, leaving me
Stranded and vulnerable, like a car on the side of the highway without any flashing hazard lights warning other drivers that I was parked there.
They abandoned me.
And who knows how long I would have been stranded until a car decided to pull over and approach my vehicle, tow straps to carry me away.
But he didn’t save me from the other passing cars. Instead, he hauled me around a sharp curve of the long stretch of road,
Left me as a wide open target for his own truck to smash into me, leaving me broken and battered, with no witnesses to call the police, an ambulance or a fire truck.
I was left all alone, bleeding and scarred in the dark curve of the highway where this drunken driver escaped without a single bruise or tear on his body, unlike my own.
“It’s just one drink.” The intoxicated stranger pried at me again, feeling his question burn into me like a red light that just wouldn’t turn green.
“No,” I said and turned away from the drunk.
It was the first time I said no to the smell of dark liquor and whatever was hiding beneath and dissolved into the liquid that was harbored in the tall, red cup.
I said no to being victim again to a ******* drug.