I told you so.

It doesn't really feel good to be right. Everything is *******. I haven't told anybody, but I have a feeling some people will know very soon.

This is killing me. It's Killing ME.

I'm going.
Help me **** it!

I don't want this.
I want a way out.
I want to go home.

But home isn't there anymore.
Home is not here.

And it won't be. Not anytime soon. Maybe not ever.
So I stopped trying to fight the brokenness. Not when I already shattered across the floor.

Every day feels like a public hanging. Accusations and no defence from me. I'm not okay.

So I will not return until I'm better. When that is, I have no idea. It could just never end. I could break and rage out, calling the hypocrisy and justification of how unfair this is.

Don't I deserve to be seen at all?

But if I'm not here, then who really gives a ****?

Fine. I'll let you live your life free of my destruction on your happiness. Because after all, I bring the drama right? And I can't escape it right? Confining me to my mistakes and nothing else.

Because hey, I never meant a **** thing to you anyway. But I won't snap just to prove you right. I'll just hope to regret sets in like it is for me.

Because I never gave up on you.
Fact.
No exceptions.