Headaches, Malfunctions, and funny little Skeletons.

96

The rain mocks the laughter stuck in my chest.
I wake up to a bad day because the world around me is so very gray.
I'm sewing my ribs together, an sort of in and out motion, linking together the perfect barrier, a protection around my heart, my soul.

If I protect her, they...it?
Maybe she won't wander and wonder so far, completely out of my reach.
Maybe she'll be less apologetic and more demanding of the time back that she's wasted on others.

I've been trying to find love, trying to find peace in confiding in others, blooming relationships from dead roses, I've been through bouquets of females, males, and then some.

I've never properly healed my wounds, I don't ever kiss my scars, or try to enjoy them before they fade. I don't talk, I don't ever wanna go on and on and on about what's so wrong with me.

I'm choking back hundreds of deaths that I don't even know about, I'm worried about classmates that want to end their life's, my own parents can't put a name to what's so wrong with me, and I'm hopelessly failing at moving on from a relationship I never should've been apart of.

It is exhausting having to mourn the lives of people that are still breathing. I've been trying to put the right words together on why I want to end my life so badly, but I don't. That's not the problem.

It's never been a problem to want decorate my own tombstone, I'm simply overwhelmed with the thought of living like this for the rest of my life. I'm overwhelmed under the pressure of my own being. I'm overwhelmed with just being. I am being, irrational, unsatisfied- constantly, careless- with my own emotions, reckless- with the responsibilities of others, forgetful- that my life has purpose, forever ungrateful for the life I didn't ask for.

I am suffering, and there is something so incredibly and terribly wrong with me.