And the impact that you have had on my life...
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I fell asleep alone, tonight. Again.

I suppose in the morning, you will not have magically appeared. I will be alone then too.

And when I wake up, I'll take my morning shower. I say it's to help wake me up, but instead it's in hopes of washing away our memories for the day. For a second, I'm almost fooled.

But when that seconds over, I'll sit there, in nothing but a towel trying to deal with the desolate feeling that has had a stronger grip on me than you used to.

It makes me feel hopeless, like a baby bird that fell from the vast sky.
Instead, I'll become hostile like a tiger towards someone who was wondered upon its den.

I'll become irritated- for my words will clash together like fire and water. My sentences will make no sense. There will be no logic, but I will still convince myself that I'm perfect.

Yet still, even with that oh so perfect mindset, I'll still feel the need to puke every time I open my mouth. Not because I feel ill, no. But because every word I say feels wrong, like a lie coming out of a saints mouth.
Yet, I am no saint.

And every time I am briskly walking around in the school halls, (in hopes of avoiding that overwhelming crowd of testosterone and tits), I make sure that you're not there first.

If you are, then I'll have to go back and do it again.

During lunch, (or any other time), when I see our friends- your friends, I'll get that nostalgic feeling. The one where your heart hurts and you can't think of anything important. But then, I'll remember how even they couldn't handle my emotional storm.

Speaking of lunch, when I do go, I'll probably sit alone. I'll eat, then stare at anything. Because if I just stare then maybe no one will talk to me.
Please, don't talk to me. 

When the oh-so-familiar bell that alerts us that lunch is over, I'll go to class and continue my staring. Not all of class though, sometimes I  hide myself in the world that only books can create. But even as I read, deep in my mind I will wish for the day to end.

Finally it does.
I'll sit outside school and I'll wait on my mother, only to remember she's at work.
I'll be stranded once again.

She'll be forced to get off work early much to her dismay, and come get me.

When she comes and gets me, I'll stare out the window with my headphones on, blaring Post Malone like the typical teenager I am.

In reality, I listen to a variety of music, but none of which I know you like. I avoid those types. Nothing to remind me of you.

You had an impact that's still affecting me but I won't admit it.

When I get home finally, I'll think of all the things I should be doing.
All the things that have to be done.

Instead, I'll get distracted.

I'll try to hide myself in my room and I'll feel that pressure on my heart. The type that makes me want to cry but I can't.

I've ran out of tears.
But they'll come back, when someone stumbles upon the strings that need to be cut in order to make me cry.

Then, when they slide the scissors over the strings, the willpower I had all day, will be gone.

Nothing left to hold them back,

The tears will fall freely, and I'll cry.

They will pour down like rain after months of a drought period.

I won't be able to breath, and I'll feel like I'm choking.

I'll be at a loss for words, but I still feel like screaming.

I'll probably curse them for taking me out of therapy, but I'll never ask again to go again. Not after that night.

And every time I think of you, I think of hospitals and tears and blood and the last sliver of hope that's  been twisted into insecurity.

I've given up but I'll never admit it. I no longer look for attention. I just want to die alone now, without the pitying looks.

I'll think of the night I felt the lowest.

It wasn't your fault, but I still won't admit that.

It's not your fault, but I don't want it to be mine either.

So while you smile, and laugh, and talk to people, I'll be here.

Wishing I was someone else.

But I'll never admit it.

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Edited