This...is Insanity.

Crazy.

This isn't lovesick, or teen angst.
This is real.
This is, can't sleep, eat, or breathe; because of the agonizing paranoia.
This is never turning your back to the door because; who knows who the next person who enters will be.
This is crying every night in bed, because you know something is wrong.
This is warning everyone, who tried to get close, that it's just not worth the time.
This is always looking for help.
This is being overlooked.
This is the burning In your chest you feel when people finally realize.
This is no normal fear.
This is the judgment in their eyes when you have an episode.
This is the screaming in the middle of the fucking street when you park your car to fight some guy who didn't look at you right.
This is the voice in your head, telling you to just do it.
This is the top of the Eiffel Tower wanting to jump because you can't handle it anymore.
This is the knife in your hand when the pain hurts so bad, you want to take control, so you make yourself hurt.
This is the blood running from your veins, escaping because you're too much to be trapped in one body with.
This is the voices in your head. Telling you to just do it.
This is the top of the Eiffel Tower wanting to jump because you can't handle it anymore.
This is the knife in your hand when the pain hurts so bad, you want to take control, so you make yourself hurt.
This is the blood running from your veins, escaping because you're too much to be trapped in one body with.
This is the repetition of insanity, because you forgot where you are in life.
This is the end.
This is the part where you lay down for one final sleep, and skip the prayer because Jesus was never their for me.
This is the black dress you never got the courage to wear.
Now you're wearing it at your own funeral.
This is a few people who'll say they cared.
This is the fake tears, and gross casseroles; that will be passed around after the dreadful day.
This is people not talking; because only now; they remember they never heard you speak.
This is people looking down at the invisible blood on their hands playing back all the times you shouted "I NEED HELP!!!"
This is tears growing louder when your mother thinks back to all the cries you sent out for her help.
This is the memories of when the cries stopped, and you got worse.
This is fucking insanity, and you can't tell me it doesn't hurt.