"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 bed 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 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 every single day of 
every week. Leaving the house doesn't even help
anymore, cause I just want to fall back into the 
waves I call covers and sleep 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 your slowly dying inside
your mind. I've had longer conversations with sleeping pills and walls of my bedroom. At least there silence doesn't make you feel like your 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 with 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 kissed, it was by a razor, 
then realizing how pathetic i really am. 
Or maybe it's just the sadness talking, I really don't know anymore...