When I feel sad or close to losing it, I write.
I need to write otherwise I start to think,
When I think I begin to imagine,
When I imagine I start to feel scared.

There are two sides to me,
Like Jekyll and Hyde,
But one has been silenced by the other.
Inside my body is the real me,
My skin, bones, flesh and organs are just the shell
Of what lies inside.

It's like there is another person,
Screaming and writhing in sheer anger,
Restrained by a straitjacket,
Throwing himself against walls,
The veins in his neck throbbing as he curses.

I never expect people to care,
In fact I nearly don't want them to,
I want them to be distant,
To stand in the bleachers and watch
The two sides of me battle it out.
I don't want them to be in the middle when the swords start to clash.

"You can't be lonely"
"You need to talk"

Talking only feeds the flames of feeling like a burden,
Being the thorn in a persons side as they try to tackle their own problems,
Another straw that hangs in the balance of completely and utterly destroying the camels back.