Once all of the weights build up
And you believe that life is just a lie
Something which you've made up
The perfect answer to a broken mind
You'll sob, you'll punch, you'll kick, you'll cry
Because then you'll know you are nothing
Nothing but blind

The nervous flicker of the candle's light
Dances wildly in my glistening eyes.
Feeling the cold night's tight embrace,
I quietly watch as the candle burns away.

Then I glance at my own guilty hands,
Smoothest skin ending at bitten down nails.
While my frenetic heart slams against my ribs,
Loud and clear, over and over again.

I can't close my eyes
tears gather.
I can't breathe
the air is stuck.
I can't gulp
my throat is tight.

I try to plant my dream,
but land is
barren

Still, I try.
Even my conscience
mocks me.

In for four and out for eight,
Hurry up don’t be late.
Keep your cool,
You’ll be great.
But don’t forget to keep your pace.

You watch and learn,
Learn and watch.
Watching maybe,
But learning what?

In for four and out for eight,
Keep your cool then you’ll be great.

my chest tightens
and my mind races
I overthink every interaction
and where it all went wrong
maybe I'm reading too much
into it
or maybe you're distant
and it's my fault
I never wanted to rush you
and now
I've lost you

wing tips
tie clips
cufflinks every day
sorry ***
coffee run
meetings on the way

small favors
life-savers
rushing every day
long drives
sunrise
emails on the way

big-wigs
pack of cigs
problems every day
retainment
of ancients
cuts are on the way

clock ticks
lock clicks
pit stains every day
late nights
streetlights
baby’s on the way

I got the answers right.
Eventually.
Just didn't breathe while doing them.

Told Dad I felt like drowning.
He told me I just needed to practice.
I do. That's why it hurts.

They always finish first.
Every time.
I pretend to check my work,
In reality, I didn't start.

Back home, I was meant to revise.
Instead I tapped my pencil into the wall.
Created a mark.
Decided to keep it. It felt true.

Got 92%.
Finally. Something to be proud about.
"You could've hit 95."
Dad smiled—he was 'proud.'
It was almost impossible to believe.
So it still stung.
Felt the familiar gnaw in my ribs.

He would probably love the boy in my class as a son.
I bet they'd enjoy studying.
Without the tears and shouting.
Without butchered expectations.

I needed help.
Didn't want to shatter his expectations again.
I almost cried,
But the room stayed the same.

I realized it wasn't ever about math.