But I guess I have to come to terms with it.

It doesn't have to be so bad.

I don't always have to be waiting for someone to save me.

I don't know why this is bugging me so much.

Maybe it's the fact
That I have to be so
Vulnerable.

I don't even have to talk about myself that much.

So why am I
So Scared?

It's just a silly little essay.

I don't want anyone to know.

That I'm not okay.

Because
I
Will
Be.

I just need a little more time.

Hurting.

It's been a while, hasn't it?

I don't know if what I've been doing is "healing",

But one can hope.

I met a raven today,
In brief passing
Of artistic elements.

He saw the chaos in my life,
And I saw the chaos in his.

This moment
Made beautiful by time,
In the museums of the moon.

My mother, in the corner.
Crying.

No longer complaining,
But wondering why.

Recently, I've had more panic attacks.
Because, suddenly, everything matters.

Now more than ever.

And I can't amount to anything.

They say that honesty is the best policy, but
Is it really?

When the truth could hurt the ones you love most?

And lies are no better,
Covering up the truth
Just to save others.

It eats away at you.

And it makes me wonder,
Is there enough space

Between heaven
And hell

For people like us?

Because life has never been
About black or white.

Or grey.

Or pink
Or blue
Or red
Or green
Or yellow.

Although black has a tendency
To show up more amongst the crowd.

Life has never been about anything.

Life is nothing at all.

And it makes me wonder...

The truth is,
I regret every decision I make.

I worry over nothing
And everything.

My mind is overflowing
Constant fear and paranoia

I want to be included,
But I don't want

I don't want.

I don't


I don't want to be a burden.
I don't want to be annoying.

I don't want to be weird,
Or cringy
Or awkward.

I don't want to be alone.

I don't want to die.