Falling, falling, until I hit the ground. This is not new. I remember a time in which I used to let the little things go. But when you have cheeks so soft and lips so red... What do you expect me to  do? I hit the ground and I know that it is rock. Rock bottom. I consider calling out to you, but there would be no point. No one ever hears me. Or do they simply choose not to listen? Now the rock is, what, melting? I do not know, but I am drowning. Drowning my sorrows. I can not swim today. I am weak. So I ask you again... What do you expect me to do? Because, in this moment, I can not function. I can not breathe. I can not bare to be alone for any longer. I want you. I want power. I want to be able to swim right back up to the top. I want a voice that can be heard and a face that can be seen, minus the obvious, burning-red, embarrassment... As I slip away, I think of you. I think of what you might think of me. Can you hear the quiet, quiet voice? Can you see the weakness? Now I have almost disappeared completely... I wonder if anyone will notice before I am gone. **Doubtful.