I think I know what it feels like to be dying. The feeling in my stomach telling me to ***** yet nothing is in my stomach to come up.
A grip on my chest, my lungs, tightening with every thought and every word that isn't the secrets I'm keeping from those I love.
I can't breathe anymore. I can't breathe.

Stars tapped to the ceiling above my bed just aren't enough anymore.
Planets hanging from string just make my heart ache for the real thing.

I wish you were here. But I also wish I was here too.

I keep saying "I'm doing alright". It's better than fine, I guess, but alright seems to be the best way to convey that I feel like I'm slipping away and the only thing that can bring me back is something I can't yet comprehend.

Losing myself. If my skin and bones were as see through as they feel, what would they say?
My chest feels like an empty hole that used to be good and just. I'm not lying to her, I'm just not stating the truth. Why can't I tell them the truth?