this isn't a cry for help. i swear, i have been good i have been counting my breaths and counting down days. until i can leave this place that i could never accept for a place that never accepts me.
this isn't a cry for help. i promise, i have been saying the affirmations and thinking of to dos. to do when i leave home. to do when im alone. to do for when college starts. to do for this year, next year, and when they finally take me away.
this isn't a cry for help. i am trying to be nice to everyone, i really am but what is sharing niceties with someone who's one look in their eyes could tell you they're begging to be relieved. i get jealous of kinder joys and loom bands and siblings and parents, i am not nice about it.
this isn't a cry for help. i don't mean it, i tell my friends after telling them how much i hate living. but this body keeps its scores and its tired of counting days, counting cycles and periods and moods so i can have an explanation for my insanity tonight.
this isn't a cry for help. most nights i lay craving a screen, a touch, a smoke, a feeling something to get by. i lay questioning how i am still here and why. there are nights i lay telling myself that these thoughts don't matter.
this isn't a cry for help. but maybe it has always been. you are a passerby in the dark night witnessing a crime and i am the one being killed and i am the killer too. we are bound to our positions and all we can do is blame the right time, wrong place.
