I don't know how to not push you away. I don't know how to deal with these feelings I can't convey. They're locked up inside my heart, my head, my chest, my lungs, my fingertips. You're looking right at me but you fail to notice how my consciousness slips. With every passing breath, my lungs become harder to use. I'm not listening to your words, I'm just wondering why internal wounds are so much easier to bruise.  The pain is still horrendous to feel. But to the world, if the wounds aren't visible, they're not real. It's like I'm being torn from the inside out. But I can't find my voice to let the monster out. And no one seems to notice if you're breaking inside. Everyone looks the other way, even when your tears refuse to subside. I'm too tired to fight. Maybe I'm crazy, maybe they're right.
But God, I thought crazy was supposed to be bliss. No one warned me I'd wind up like this.