******.
In so many ways,
in every sense of the word.
******.
In the head,
by my parents,
by own personal vortex of self-pity and self-hate.

Red and black spots cloud my vision
when you slap me
with your words.
You tie ropes around my hands,
my chest,
my neck,
when you run around my questions,
dodging and ducking.
I can't breathe, and you wont ******* Listen.
Because you're right. You're always right.
You spin and spiral in your roundabout conversations,
but you can't see the Gaping Hole in the center of the tangle of
things you just said.
But I can.
You're blind to it, and I feel sorry for you.
I do.
You believe your own lies.
"I just let her do her own thing...shes in control of that".
No, No She's Not.
No, No She's Not.
She doesn't feel like she's in control of anything.
Can't you see that?
How can you not see that?
Don't act like you were blindsided by my spiraling,
falling
down
        down
                down.
You knew,
and you chose not to act.
You Knew,
but you decided that it would be more uncomfortable for you
for you if you brought it up.
So you didn't.
and look what happened.
You knew.
You knew

And I promise this isn't just a tale of a wistful teenager,
an, "oh woe is me", type of thing.
Because I'm angry,
so angry,
and the only way I know how to let it out
is by pressing the big red SELF DESTRUCT button
right above my bed [really right above my head, and it wont go away].
But You Don't Understand.
You don't know why I do the things that I do, and for me to explain it to you would break your heart.

Let the leash out, mom, a little bit.
I'm suffocating,
I can't breathe,
I Feel ******* Crazy.
You have to let me go so I can come back,
back in my own time.
Let me heal Alone.
Leave Me Alone.
leave me alone.