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I dream of you

I need to stop

But I can't help myself

I dream you never left

That you still love me

That you still want me

That you still need me

That you're sorry

That you're still here

...

But you don't

And you're not

And you never will be

Those are all lies I tell myself just so I don't go mad

So I don't end up cutting myself

Or killing myself

Or both



Just to get away from you



Because deep down inside



I know you don't give a single fuck about me



I just can't admit it

I've never been that much of a writer. Thoughts pour out of my head faster than I can comprehend, words turn into sentences, sentences into paragraphs. Paragraphs full of nonsense, jumbled coherence and ambiguous lines. I don't know what I'm saying most of the time but I try my best to be understood. My mind is a train wreck, a junkyard mess made of nothing but hushed whispers and silenced screams. It's like thousands of voices floating around in every direction and I don't know which one to listen to. They all demand a sliver of attention. My thoughts are like being completely submerged in deep cold water and I can't see the surface. I can't see the sun or the sky or the clouds. I can't feel the wind or taste the snow or hear the death of leaves. I can't feel the ground beneath my feet and I can't have the air that's everywhere. I can't hear, I can't talk. I can't speak or cry or laugh or shout. Because every time I try open my mouth or my eyes, something stops me. Every time I try move forward something holds me back...



You.