My fingers look at the letters on the keyboard and I’m barely able to form words.
I want to write of my pain but I can’t seem to explain.
My hero is gone and I need saving.
I feel so alone and everything keeps changing.
This pressure in my chest is getting too hot.
I hate that I can’t go to where you are.
If I were to take it upon myself I’d only rot.
So I have to let it burn, and burn, and burn.
While I constantly think when will it be my turn?
You don’t want me to think like this and I know it.
But I’ve  stopped trying to be heroic.
This pressure in my chest is getting too hot.
But you won’t give me the option to stop.
Because it’s not just me anymore.