(no subject)
Speak to me and make me cry. Look at me and crack me open. It won't take much to break me.
Stay with me when I'm blue again. Talk to me when I don't want to go home yet, because I can't face the reality of it all. My biggest fear and frustration turns into a place where, after classes end, I can escape life for a while.
I've turned into one of those people who just write and live and breathe drama. It's disgusting; all I do these days is cry and do what I have to do driven by obligation instead of the passion I used to have. I'm worthless, so full inside that it's numbing and stifling and it scares the hell out of me.
I want to write and tell and scream what's on my mind, but I know people will think me insane, or get scared, or tell me to please not talk about things like that. I don't want that, because I wouldn't do anything stupid; it's just in my head, not in my hands. It's always been like that.
Darkness is the forbidden subject: I have to be okay. They care; they need to know I'm okay. After a day or two, they expect the rain to stop and the smile to reappear. Yeah, I'll smile for you. I can't talk about it, because it might be pretty bad.
I'm scared to fail, to lose, to ask someone if I could sit with them for a little while, just so I'm not so alone. They care, but they could never understand. I wouldn't dare tell them. I need to keep myself away from them to make sure they won't notice too much of it. To need and to want can be such different things.
Stay with me when I'm blue again. Talk to me when I don't want to go home yet, because I can't face the reality of it all. My biggest fear and frustration turns into a place where, after classes end, I can escape life for a while.
I've turned into one of those people who just write and live and breathe drama. It's disgusting; all I do these days is cry and do what I have to do driven by obligation instead of the passion I used to have. I'm worthless, so full inside that it's numbing and stifling and it scares the hell out of me.
I want to write and tell and scream what's on my mind, but I know people will think me insane, or get scared, or tell me to please not talk about things like that. I don't want that, because I wouldn't do anything stupid; it's just in my head, not in my hands. It's always been like that.
Darkness is the forbidden subject: I have to be okay. They care; they need to know I'm okay. After a day or two, they expect the rain to stop and the smile to reappear. Yeah, I'll smile for you. I can't talk about it, because it might be pretty bad.
I'm scared to fail, to lose, to ask someone if I could sit with them for a little while, just so I'm not so alone. They care, but they could never understand. I wouldn't dare tell them. I need to keep myself away from them to make sure they won't notice too much of it. To need and to want can be such different things.