I think I'm sick
but I can't do anything about it.
That's the catch with this 'illness' -
it's knowing it's killing you
but not having the guts to do anything about it.

The feeling of being replaced is
itself
irreplaceable.
It compares to no other.

It's the feeling of gaining a heart
then having it slowly pulled out of you.

I'd rather people be honest
and hurt me with the truth
than lie to me constantly
and hide things from me.
"I thought you were out.
I would've asked but..."
You knew I was in
You knew I would've helped
You just didn't want me to.

Why am I expected to get back on the metaphorical horse when all I want to do
is dig a hole inside my head
cover myself with a duvet
and never come out?

"Yesterday's gone
We've got to keep moving on."
But why is it so hard?

I haven't seen my grandparents in 5 years
but I saw them today.
They asked how I was
and how I was finding university.
Then they talked more of my cousins.
They still care for them more than they do for me.
Nothing has changed in those 5 years.
And that hurts.