Crying feels like drowning
When you cry for long enough, your nose starts feeling stale
You know when you're swimming and inhale water?
Sniffling has that effect on you after a while
As if your feelings are getting caught in your sinuaes, chemicaled with the chlorine of what you did, and the pool cleaner of how you tried to fix it.

His water is suffocating me because I forgot to turn the ******* hose off.

Its cold in here

If I go one more hour without talking to you, my heart will explode
As is, my face is breaking, my chest is tightening around something that is only getting larger with regret

My sanity hurts

I'm so sick of not having the words to describe how I feel anymore.
The smallest of provocations makes me cry, sometimes as soon as I lay down the tears start flowing and I can't ever stop them before I text a friend, or my boyfriend.
My boyfriend, who treats me as if my feelings are dumb, though he swears he doesn't mean to.
They reply with "what's wrong" and
I can't give them an answer
My best friend says it's OK,
My boyfriend sends a confused face.
And time and time again I apologize for not knowing what's wrong, for inconveniencing them with my feelings, but saying this makes me feel even more helpless.
I can't even tell the truth to myself anymore.
I'm lying in my bed crying for no reason.
**Help me please

When I can't sleep I think about you
When I can sleep, I dream about you

When I can't cope, I leave without you

When I can't smile, I look at you
When I can smile, I gaze at you

When I can't breathe, I wait for you
When I can breathe, I wait for you to stop me

Keats may’ve died of consumption
And Dante in his personal hell
But no one ever died of a broken heart
Or so I’ve heard them tell

Shakespeare’s mortal coil had shuffled
And Byron could a-rove no more
But no one ever died of a broken heart
Of that much they are sure

All of Auden’s clocks had stopped
Dickinson felt death in her brain
But no one ever died of a broken heart
Though it’s heavy as a ball and chain

Blake had entered Jerusalem
For Carroll, Wonderland beckoned
But no one ever died of a broken heart
Yet I wish I could any second

Miss Rossetti’s winter was bleak
Thomas raged into that good night
But no one ever died of a broken heart
At least not without a good fight

When you speak, the listener understands you. When you write, the reader understands themselves.