You never think you'll start.
And then you do, and you think you'll never stop.
Sometimes you just wish everything would stop.
But it doesn't. And it can't. You know that.
So you quit.
A week. A month. Maybe even two.
Yet slowly you feel this pressure,
This constant nagging of unspoken emotion.
Maybe you don't acknowledge it yet, but you will.
And then all of a sudden it all explodes.
You're standing there. Breaking down; again.
Drowning under it all.
So you take your pail, throwing water out of this sinking boat.
A desperate, meaningless attempt to stay.
Blade against skin