You remember don't you?
The pressure that would build behind your eyes?
The sore content building at the base of your throat?
The horrible smell you'd almost instantaneously recognize as one of the lowest points in your life?
The adrenaline associated with breaking the ever pestering rules clouded by the fumes in the back of your head?
And then the tingling in your arms and legs as you attempt to elevate your newly intoxicated body?
You used days like these, with one or two of your buddies in the woods behind the park you lived near as a means for ease that made it's way into your mind once the deed was done.
It was an escape.
You didn't anticipate the pressure of reality to once again creep up from behind that one large oak tree, and strangle you, now did you?
Of course the people around you won't see, too busy locking eyes and pretending they weren't madly in love with one another, hiding it with discreet touches, and a bit less than obvious staring contests, attempting to absorb one another's iris'.
Although escape was key, the come down always ends up being inevitable.
Watching as running kids make a quick escape from the "it" little boy who won't stop chasing them, knowing he won't ever win, but the hope is there.
You sit at the empty blacktop, trying to drown out the rest of the world, knowing before long it'll be all over.
Your knees have become accustomed to being pressed up against your chest, as tears are threatening to fall from your glossy eyes.
No one's paying attention to you. I mean, what's the big deal, she's just some crying teenager.
That overwhelming rush of sweat hitting your nose as one of the heavier kids runs by you, bleaching the air with his parents' mistakes, hitting way too close to home.
Ridicule comes in two phases.
One being those around you.
Two posing itself as ridicule of one's self.
As a sufferer of both, you can't help but remain coiled tightly within yourself and at a mental standstill.
You look down at your knees and realize what you're doing.
They'll know, they'll all know if you stay.
Your "friends" have managed to lose themselves in each other, and the taste of wind in your hair is calling your name.
Running at the state you're in seems risky but fetching those sweet car keys never seemed so incredible.
Of course no one's there to stop you from getting into that car.
Besides, who would care anyways?
Your eyes feel even heavier now, as the smoke you recently inhaled has made its way to your head.
The level of difficulty now held with keeping our eyes open is making itself even more intense.
At this point, you barely register the speed or direction you're going, not really intending to end up anywhere specific.
the tinted windows are open, and your wild hair whips around.
And you can't stop
Won't stop.
