FicWad

It feels like I've been standing on the edge of time

and somebody is just waiting for me to lose my mind.

My skin feels rough and are already feeling the torture from the cold,

while my blanket is warmer than any goodnight.

The steps descending down my porch are absent in the summer

it feels so detached.

Nothing seems to feel very true anymore.

I'm being suffocated.

As I drag my feet through the white washed halls,

the night my mother cried herself to sleep becomes more evident in my mind.

The fight on the way down to see my sister,

its not perfect, but nothing really is.

The sixty-sixth journal I wrote said,

"I feel like I'm losing everything,"

and sixty-seven just says, "I regret not killing myself in eighth grade."

There are times when you feel like you may be drowning,

but the surface is always near.

The mac and cheese seems to have gone cold by now

and I can pinpoint the moments,

when I know I'm being pulled under and the surface is getting distant.

I'm growing and the surface has never felt so close,

but there's still an anchor tied around my ankle.

The last leaves are falling now

and the cold is settling in.

Maybe a little warmth is all I need

after all the winters I've been alone, fighting with my conscious.

My mind is the only company I've had.

My pen is growing mightier by the day

but the pages have never been so empty.

I just need the piece of me that makes me full,

something that makes me feel alive.

I can't bring myself to leave this site. -an