"Home is where the heart is", they say, but I can't find my heart. No wonder I never feel at home. I get caught in be sheets and bad dreams about the past, pictures and memories slap me in the face even when I'm asleep. There's no escape really, I use to drown in my tears at midnight and wake up alive. Now I realize I'm in over my head, slowly suffocating myself with unsaid words and crowded thoughts.
Things I cannot, will not, don't even know how to actually say, are what bug me in every single day of every single week. Leaving the house doesn't even help anymore, because I just want to fall back into the waves I call covers and sleep, just to forget, but really to remember, what I'm running from. You know, you live in a house with family, but really what is family? I don't remember anymore, because it's more like strangers you know really well, just not enough to tell them you're slowly dying inside your mind. I've had longer conversations with sleeping pills and the walls of my bedroom. At least their silence doesn't make you feel like you're fucking insane.
"I'm fine" has just become the default of "I wish you'd stop asking, you don't really care". Or maybe it's because I'm too tired to explain what's wrong, or how I feel, because I live it every waking moment. Maybe it's the thought they would know by looking into my lifeless eyes, there's nothing there. Maybe it's the urge to tell my mother the first time my skin was kisses, it was by the razor, then realizing how pathetic I really am. Or maybe it's just the sadness talking.
I don't really know anymore.
