Introspection

I. 
people say the sky cries when it rains. i never thought of it that way. i romanticize my crying - my eyes are raining, i cry. and somehow that makes me feel better. water slides past my skin. down my face.

II.
the sad part is that i don’t need the therapy. just the therapist, just a listener, just a human that doesn’t judge. and the sad part is that if i could talk, i wouldn’t write. these words wouldn’t exist. and the sad part is that i’m considering the sad parts of my sadness, and the sad part is that there are sad parts plural at all. i pick up a pen. i stare at my words. sad loses all meaning.

III.
songs feel more sentimental from a music box. maybe that’s why i crease myself along each vertex of the polygon that is my image and put mirrors on each wall so my silence echoes inside. i scream, grinding my vocal chords against the same metal daggers as yesterday. they hear a familiar tune, but it’s my head in which it’s stuck. i double check my grammar. at least i can play those notes right. 

IV. 
there’s a teacup made of play-doh in my room. carefully sculpted for an impossible application to reality. i try a drink of water from it. it tastes salty. the first simile in my mind is a comparison to tears. at least it’s not blood, i shrug. something feels wrong, but all i do is shrug. is that wrong? i ask. i answer. i shrug.

V.
i miss the wonder of not knowing. i miss the thrill of the first time i saw it snowing. i want to know where i am going, so i can look back and miss not knowing. towards the sun i am growing, but i don’t want the light. just some warmth. i take off my jacket. i take off my gloves.

VI.
i don’t want to exist. i don’t want to die. i want to feel like a person again, not this life wasted on to-do lists and told-you-sos. when will i get to the part where i’m happy in the now of it all? am i even living anymore? i want to live. let me live. live. i’m alive. that should be the most profound thought. i wait for someone to agree.