/the science of crying on the bathroom floor/

/ tripped into the room 'cause you were stumbling around the broken p i e c e s of a heart that litters the ground; it's even harder to see when the tears are blinding you and you're too weak to wipe them from your face
// nails chipped and broken, you take them in as you lie on the cold, hard floor [and it's funny how the thoughts "this tile doesn't go with my skin" pop into your mind when it feels like you've lost your sense and all]
/// at least there's a reason we store extra shampoo under the sink, we'll need more once i've finished washing the sin away | hands are raw but that doesn't matter, seems i can at least do something after all |
//// staring in the mirror only lasts three seconds before you've confessed to the world how ugly you are: perhaps cutting your hair? or just dying the damn thing?
//// people got a funny way of showing how they're feelin' - you would know, you've been on the wrong end of that concept before
/// the words "get over yourself" taste bitter but familiar, you're probably overreacting (that's what you've been told before) maybe its time to pick yourself off the floor
// the motivation is lost before it's even fully manifested, no one's perfect, right? that's what you tell yourself but it's a question, not a statement; it seems the whole worlds got herself figured out, except you
/ now you've realized, you just need music, it's the closest medication out there for someone like you. without it-you don't even have a damn clue how you'd make it through.