I feel that ripping my heart right out of my chest
would be less painful than this ache.
Right now I just feel defeated;
like I lost a battle I wasn't fighting.

A minute ago, I felt like:
screamingragingyellingshouting
hittingslappingsobbingfighti­ngcrying.
Two minutes ago, I felt:
Hopelessalonedefeatedterrified
mournfulmiserablepassionatem­adangryhopeless.

I put so much forward, and frankly I'm sick of wearing
this fake-*** smile on my face. I'm sick of having to be "okay".
I'm sick of being sick of this; it's supposed to be my job.  
I'm sick of being upset.

I wish I could tell you how I feel;
but I don't want you to get distracted.
Yet you get distracted because I start crying.
I hate myself for that.

I purposely show that I'm upset so you can ask me why.
If you were here, that'd be okay.
But you aren't, and it's not.

I hate when the realization that when you were wrong
smacks you across the face.
It knows where it hurts the most.
And WHAM!

Right now. I feel. Guilty.

*I'm sorry.