A glance at the clock can't tell me
the nanosecond it takes
for the thoughts to seep through my head,
and let me know that I am nothing.

A ticking time bomb can't relate
to the raging inferno
that burns up every good feeling I ever have
and makes me feel cold in the heat.

A sad song can't tell me
that everything is okay.
Because everything is not okay,
and I'm too terrified to even think.

I'm too terrified to ask for help,
because they won't believe me,
and if they do, that means I have to
tell them what I think.
And I can't think past the fire in my skull,
or the music at the forefront of my mind.

I can't tell them that every time I close my eyes
I imagine each way I could die.
I imagine the pain and feel it rush through me
in the form of excitement,
and fear,
and anger.

Because I just can't accept that part of myself
to be true.
Because I wish it wasn't,
and I don't want anyone to see that side of me.