Heavy-Eyed

For some reason, my love for self-hatred has bloomed into a craving of rebellion. I think I'm going insane because the space between my ears has suddenly become too small. I feel as though I'm drifting away from it all, like a dingy cast out to sea. I can't even control myself anymore. Anxiety attacks seem to like to rock me to sleep. The dreams of big city lights reflect in my eyes and trick everyone else into thinking that I don't care. But I do. I care so desperately, I'm just waiting for someone to care back. I'm waiting for someone to notice the pain in my eyes. I'm waiting for someone to give a damn. Because here I am, right in front of you all, and you're so blind that you can't even realize that it's all crumbling. It's all withering away. I hope I'm another cliche just to get my name in the books. I'm going to live until I die. I've been yearning for sweet blades to kiss my wrists, but I'm too much a coward to figure out if I'll fall in love. Too much of a disappointment. Lately it's been rough. Lately all I want is for someone to tell me that it'll be alright. But maybe it's a bad thing when people notice. Because once someone did. They asked me if I was okay, and I said yes and then they went on to say, "You're just tired right? Yeah, I'm good at reading people." But I'm not just tired. I'm tired of life, tired of everything being eternally the same. So maybe people should learn to read the fine print. Try reading in between the lines for once. They ask if you're tired, but the never ask of what.