I don't think I can describe it, except by saying it "burns".
I don't mean it's a excruciating heat radiating from my body, cause by some out of body source, but from within.
I don't think I can breathe,
I don't think I can speak,
I don't think I don't think I can bare to be here much longer.
But yet, here I am.
Here I am with my arms crossed in-front of me and my face blank and eyes wide, lungs hollow, heart booming.
Here I am with the feeling of pulling a U-turn and driving home.
Here I am crawling back into my own skin trying to make sense of this mess.
But "I" don't even feel like "me".
I'm talking and driving and working,
but it feels like I'm not doing it.
Like I'm on auto pilot,
Like I'm on the outside looking in,
Like I'm possessed.
So I'm stuck, with this over-whelming burning sensation,
that feels like my chest is being ripped open,
with every fiber in my being screaming to go home.
But I don't.

My mind is too cluttered to think
about how each verse should go.
I'm so filled with rage, sadness, and regret,
that I can't think correctly.
All I can think about is how you ruined me.
The images of the things we did in your bedroom still haunt me.
I don't love you anymore.
You are my past.
And you're staying there.

Wake up.
Go to school.
Eat.
Sleep.
Repeat.
Boring, isn't it?
It's also pretty draining, you know.
Going around every day, doing the same thing, seeing the same people.
School is quite awful.
Don't get me wrong, I love learning.
But I do not love stress.
I don't love the pressure to get perfect grades.
I don't love teachers who don't understand why I can't learn things quickly.
I don't love failing classes.
I don't love the constant question "What are you going to do after high school?"
It's a lot to do.
It's a lot to decide.
And I'm running out of time.

When I first saw you, I thought to myself:
"I really like her septum piercing."
And I told you.
You showed me how you could move it without touching it,
and I thought that was pretty cool.
Then I noticed your face.
Your beautiful, breath taking brown eyes that had the slightest hint of green.
Then I noticed your clothes, and how you carried yourself.
You always looked like you could punch someone if you needed to, but still elegant.  
Then I noticed your sense of humor, and your love for drugs.
Then I noticed the scars on your arm.
and I understood.
You were my friend.
You told me you were a model once, and honey, it was obvious.
You are the most beautiful girl I have ever met.
But you never believed me when I told you that.
You never believed anyone.
And maybe if you did, you'd still be here.
If we ever met again, I would make sure you knew.
I would make sure you knew how loved you were, and how amazing you are.
Because maybe if I told you more often,
maybe if you knew, or if we got you help,
just maybe..,
you wouldn't have left.
And just maybe, I wouldn't cry when a train passed my house.

I can't wait for the day that this all gets a bit more bearable.
I want to stay,
and I want to leave.
I want to learn,
but I want to stay home and sleep.
I want to hurt myself,
but I need to stay strong.
I have so much to live for,
I have a purpose,
but I'm still wondering what exactly that is.

Swimming is fun.
But if you're like me,
and you can't swim that well,
sometimes you go under from time and time again.
But you always come back up, eventually.
Life is kind of like that.
One day you're just walking through the water,
and it's a bit too high,
and then your foot slips.
You go under.
You panic.
and you come back up,
eventually ,
coughing and gasping for air.
Sometimes,  if you were under long enough,
it takes you a minute to get yourself back together.
This happens a lot in life, well, to me.
You're just out living,
and suddenly..
you're in a knee-deep pool of emotions.
Maybe it's because of stress, or drama, or maybe it's nothing.
But whatever it is, it keeps building up and up,
and you can't really do anything,
so you just kind of accept it.
Eventually, you end up to where you're in up to your shoulders,
and it's getting harder to stay up.
You try to get out, but you cant, and that only makes it so much worse.
You're stuck.
You're going under.
And sometimes you come back up after a bit, and eventually you're fine.
Sometimes, though..
you're not too sure if you're going to make it back up again.

You could spend a life time staring at a photograph,
or re-reading old love letters,
trying to remember how you felt,
but you will never feel the same exact way you did again.
They say that "in 20 years no one will remember any of this"
and that's terrifying to me, honestly.