Pressure.

I don't think you understand.
It's to deep to touch the sand. You're pushing my head under the waves and my lungs no longer believe in the concept of air. I cannot die, i'm living in this torture and it's not fair.

The further you push me,
The more I choke on the salt in which I inhale. The further you pressure me. 
The more I am destined to fail.

The more I invest my time.
I cannot rewind to this date. 
The more I lie that i'm fine. 
The more i'm swallowed by hate.

The image of a black swallowing eruption of cloud is all I can think of when I picture this. This is the only way I can describe the emotion. I wish there was a cure, a love potion. But my dreams fade once again, into this image that plagues my mind. This image that's so easy to picture, Is the pure emptyness that shows me who I really am. 
Nothing in anyone elses mind.