Words.

The Ugly Truth

Some deranged part of me likes to think that I've got the real problems here.

I feel like I'm on the verge of just blowing up.. all the stress is just bubbling up, like I'm bottling things up. But I'm barely letting it out I'm just keeping it inside. I stopped worrying about myself, like it just doesn't matter anymore. Part of me just got used to the pain. If I'm not hurting myself, I'm hurting everyone around me.. and there's nothing I can do about it, nothing that can stop this. I wish I have control of the pain I feel inside.. but I feel helpless.

I can still see his face in my dreams,, but I can never know if it's the real him.. He's so far but for some reason I can feel him here, somewhere near. And when I close my eyes again to the thought of him, it doesn't help I can still see him. It's as if his smell is enveloped in the air around me and I can't bear pretend it's not there because it is, it is. His memory is stuck to my skin.

You became a ghost and made it so hard to keep my head up after all, I saw myself in your reflection knowing that you let me in where no one else have been.