What is this overwhelming heaviness on my chest? Why won’t my mind lay to rest?
Seconds are often too long. People talk, but I’m all alone. Why does everything feel so wrong?
Am I a passerby? Do I have a place in this world?
I clasp my hands and try to feel the breeze. I’m in pain, but I’m still here.
What do I do when I am so weak? What am I holding on for?
Everything here feels irregular, and most of the time, I’m an outsider.
But, this heaviness has grown familiar; it’s the closest thing I have to home.
People still talk, but I don’t want to be here. And, sometimes I scream, but I don’t want to be heard.
I reach out, but I’m only half there.
I try to move, but the air pushes me down, so I wait for time to pass me by.
I know something is not right and it’s all clear to me now.
My thoughts are killing me ‘cause it’s all clear to me now.