this silence is evil. my demons don’t scratch, ****, or tempt. they place a sickly old finger to my lips with one hand and clutch my throat with the other, draining my face blue.

i suffocate in silence.

my voice, once big, is shrinking to a whimper. barely anyone hears me – barely anyone knows i'm here. i'm just someone to sit with, someone with a history, someone to feel sorry for for a few seconds, someone who'll shut up and listen to them talk about themselves all day, someone you brush off in a few words, someone not worth your breath.

and the worst part is, you don’t know me. no one does. and all my candles slowly die, one by one. darkness consuming the light, wretched invisible eyes smiling at me from the abyss.

and nobody cares. nobody listens. nobody asks why.

i'm terrified to the bone. i'm turning into someone i don’t want to. this cancer is eating me up, and it will eat until there is nothing left but empty thoughts and crushing regret. this pent-up anger, this introverted angst, not to others but to myself – i just wanna break something. rip it to pieces, burn it and throw it in a lake. punch it until my fist draws blood – until my fist becomes my ****** heart and my ****** heart becomes my ****** fist.

i am holden caulfield, but i don’t want to be.