Sitting alone on the edge of your bed, crying once again. Not because of something sudden and temporary, some arguments between so called friends those who say they are there but when you need them most they are nowhere to be found., but rather feeling like a vase breaking on the floor only to be frozen the moment it shatters, broken but still considered whole.
I am there. In a room with white walls but is still as black as night. Each drop that falls from my body, a combination of blood, tears, and self hatred. Smearing the room, filling it till I am drowning. I am screaming for help while others wait out side and. Watch
Telling me to just breath when I'm trying so hard
Then, as I reach the surface, I am brought back down by cold black claws around my heart that pull me down once again.
And as I take my last breath,
The trigger is pulled
And my mind is set free
Becoming the paint on the once white walls.
