I have seen it coming.
I have felt me drowning,
slowly, and then all at once,
I don't like it here, you know.
It's different,
maybe I knew it was gonna be.

I talked to them.
No, it doesn't get better.
Every time I try, it gets worse.
Maybe I don't talk like them,
maybe I don't want to.
I don't like it here.

They don't get me.
Well, no one tries to.
And it's utterly fine,
I like it that way.
I'm that socially awkward damsel, who is mostly seen under the covers of her John Green-book.
They do talk to me about those notes from class
and once it's arranged,
they are nowhere to be seen around me.
But, remember?
I don't like it here.

I have seen it coming.
I have seen me losing myself,
piece by piece, word by word.
I have been trying to reach the bright smoke of expectations that hovers around my head.
And for the hating love of reading,
I still manage to slip through the pages of that fiction novel,
at least once a day.
I don't like it here.

I have seen it coming.
I have seen old mark sheets of the dead,
I have seen those good grades fade.
I have seen me,
dead.
I haven't risen up from the dead,
I am trying to.
But,
I don't like it here.