“Suicide, underground”

It was obvious, the way she shifted her feet & crossed her arms nervously, every time someone said hello. The way she stared past me when I approached her and the way she mumbled her answers, her voice barely above the pitch of a whisper. The spontaneity of her excuses, I must applaud, and how everyone seemed to laugh them off though only on the surface. It must be nerve-wrecking for her, but all they did was watch and laugh with unease; the discomfort felt like a thick slab of mud that could be cut through with a blade. Only those who knew, dared not say a thing. Only those who’ve felt what she was, and still is, feeling, would look the other way.

I wanted to tell her, that it ruins you. That it takes away your life and leave you hanging on to an empty shell that has lost its blush. That it’s okay to feel the guilt & animosity, because though you may be admired for your strength, you are pitied for your weakness.

Ironically though, it was four days of more control than ever but that’s withering away now, ounce by ounce, as each hour passes.


My patience is wearing extremely thin.
At one thing, and everything.

I think this is the lack of sleep talking.