Stare blankly ahead,
With lids of filled with sand,
As your world and the friendships you once cherished,
Crumble to pieces.
Pick and pull at your dry lips,
Bleeding now,
With Anxiety blunting your fingernails whilst you sit quietly at an emotionless desk,
Surrounded by brainwashed children,
Same age but so different in mental state.
You need to be touched,
Held for hours as you empty all the thoughts that keep you up until 3am on a Tuesday morning,
Or despondent from that group of friends you treasure,
But never know how to let them know,
How much they mean to you,
Oh it is such a shame that you resent even the smallest embrace from another human being.
The slow sad songs,
With more moral meaning than anything that has ever been said to you,
Are the only strings holding and securing you to whatever shred of a healthy mental state,
You have left.
Such a war inside that little mind of yours darling,
Much like a clear calm lake,
The surface still and smooth,
Brilliantly hiding the raging battle,
Just below the surface of your warm brown eyes.
