sometimes it feels like my head is stuffed with crumpled ***** of paper: the things I never said, the things I should have never said, the things that someone never said to me.
all of these things are written on every piece of paper there are so many right now that no more would be able to fit yet i can't stop thinking things, i can't stop saying stupid things, i can't stop wishing things.
i sigh I reach up to my forehead and i grasp my bangs with my shaky hands and pull
i'm hoping one day when i do this the top of my head will yank open all of these crumpled pieces of thoughts will pour out in a pile on the floor i will kneel down and uncrumple each and every piece i will read each one until my head fills up again.