borrowed time

it just feels like i’m standing at the edge of the world tonight. taking deep breaths through shallow lungs and trying to think clearly through a mind that refuses to function.

and somehow i’ve held on through all the highs and lows, but it doesn’t really matter, because in the end i’m still going to end up alone.

because it’s written in neon lights, and i can’t read the signs, and maybe if it’s this hard i shouldn’t even try. and then i’m shutting down. and then i’m on the floor, with my hands over my eyes, and it doesn’t really matter what’s happening, because right now nothing feels like real life.

and is this really real life? because i can’t make sense of it. can’t slip it into order, and pretend it’s all right.

and i always come back to this place in the end. to pushing you away accidentally, and overthinking everything, and just wanting to sleep but never sleeping, and wanting to leave but not saying anything, and here i am again. writing poetry, while i hide in the locker bay. pretending, that i’m the only one who feels this way.

For a little bit of explanation, the locker bay where I go to school is usually empty in the middle of the block, so whenever I have a panic attack in class I usually go there to calm down, since for some weird reason it feels like one of the most private places on the campus.

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