Do you have any idea what I go through?
You don't, and I
know you don't, because I never tell you.

Ever wondered why?

I have what seems like a million stacks
of paper pressing on my chest, and
all the ****** memorised facts
are fighting in my head, compressed, I
feel a bit dead. What this person said, what
that person said, my eyes aren't green
anymore, they're red,
and yellow,
and pink,
a highlighters tint tattooed into
my neural net, yet I don't feel
confident enough to bet it won't
wash off.
Yet each morning I still
brush off my shroud of too
little sleep, because I can't fall asleep
when I'm alone and when I'm sad I
moan to shadowy paving stones, as I
walk a march to the station to
and fro, and I secretly wonder, "does
it even matter where I go?", and every day
I'm just that little bit more slow, still keep
counting chances in my head, but when I
dance my heart can still
hear the lead I left at the
side, which resides with me
now.
I fall asleep on textbooks and
I wonder how this
became the focal point of
my existence, every now and
then it meets my resistance but
every time I squash it down, I wish
I dreamed of the crown of
innocence that once brushed upon
my head, but now I feel I'm guilty
instead, because every smile
is a second wasted. Instead I
dream of
paper,
and death,
and funerals.
And I watch as the
ones I love are lost, I
can't remember the
last time one of my dreams
was soft.
I can't remember.
This sacrifice isn't small, I haven't
actually listed much of my fall, but the
tallest order of all isn't even the
grades I must get if I can
finally submit to the
fact that I might be
worth it.
I'm leaving the first person I
have ever romantically loved
to do so, and just the idea
bruises my bones,
because, at the same time
as being miserable, mad, and
sad,
he has helped me be the most
happy, no more, filled, complete,
as I have ever been.
I have thrown my soul at
his feet, and he has
kissed it.
And if I leave him, I will miss
it, a part of me I finally found, will
resound like a long forgotten
tune, my new found flower
unknowing where to bloom.
He has not made it easy, I have
watched him torture, hate, and cry
to himself, I have watched him
wish himself past help.

I will always have her, nothing
can ever take her, she
is me.

But he,
he makes me fear the breeze.

I love you too, but if you think you
see a brick wall then you obviously
haven't looked to see how tall
it is,
I've run out of bricks.
All that are left are sticks,
feel free to scratch in an "You
owe me" but, you see, my perceived
"cracks" have triumphed, I'm
sorry to be the bearer of true news.
I'm sorry I can't sit up with you,
I have in the past.
I'm sorry I can't right now panic for you,
I have in the past.
I'm sorry I can't listen right now,
but I have,
multiple times in the past.

So leave a message after the
tone, and I'll get back to you
when you want a wall to moan at.

Maybe I'll chuck you a brick?

(p.s sorry if this was too "emotionless")