It's like wanting to scream but air won't fill my lungs,  empty voices ringing through my head a familiar hum, Each day the same as the last all blurring into one. I begin to wonder if it will get better, if I am the only one. Meaningless words tumble from my tongue, laced with anger and regret from what has been done. 

it'll get better

it'll get better

it'll get better

it'll get better

it'll get better 

it'll get better 

it'll get better 

there's plenty of disappointment more than enough to get around do I even have the energy to be angry anymore. I go into the sun but I feel no heat, it's the same everywhere. What kind of medicine do i need to feel something that won't push me over the edge, has the future ever been anything close then what we said?  Was it ever something significant, oh god. I thought home was supposed to keep us safe. I teeter walking this thin fraying wire trying to hold onto something

it'll get better

it'll get better

it'll get better

it'll get better 

it'll get better 

I whisper to myself through cracked lips.  it's been 60 days or more since I left, maybe more the days are all the same. Living quietly safely inside making plans to make a life remembering all of it, memories hanging over me like bricks. I don't know how to go on, I lay in my bed in my cold sheets trying to make living better. I can't even sleep in silence when my head is so loud, and all it does it echo. picking fights with myself waiting for the outcome to change. 

it'll get better 

it's going to 

nothing works, how long can I keep lying to myself I can't even make myself cry anymore no longer do I have friends nor enemies I have pushed away everyone from around me. I have no way to see more clearly all I take is loss and no gain this world must be godless because all I see is pain everywhere. 

i'm all alone 

we are strangers

There's this funny unspoken rule of being friends, and how falls apart as soon as theres something more. Burned a bridge and made another, things are odd like that. For some reason or another things ended, but I think that it's the memory of the way it felt that haunts most people. We all seem to use things to make us feel whole, may that be religion,  art, people, there's this void that we are born with.  And it grows bigger and smaller and sometimes we even forget it's there.  I don't know what I fill mine with anymore. Ideas of people perhaps,  real life was always too real for my tastes.  But then isn't that all too true for everyone. I want to die and I want to be alive. I dream about burning bridges and starting over, wishing that I had been born into a different situation because I am stupidly in love with someone who is only half real. I don't know if I could ever really love the real him outside of my head, maybe it's just an idea with a face. I want to die with all of my being, I want this to be over. The world is beautiful but i've really had enough. I don't want this anymore, any of it. But when it comes to pulling the trigger, I find I cannot.
And I hate myself for it.
Some pitiful Monday morning wishing that I could weave the fabrics of time, to be someone else somewhere else. I find myself wandering around the world without a thought in my mind, only places and people I could have been.  With a vague remembrance of the people I've met and people I've been- all blur together in my mind.
I wish I could erase, not the people.  But the thoughts and dreams that came along.
They're burned behind my eyes like a drunken tattoo full of regret that I'm forced to stare at every day.