Instead of an oil painting, so defined
and clearly painted, I have become
a charcoal portait of sincere heart ache.
I feel myself slipping every now and
then and I know my lines are smudging.
I'm attempting to hold on to myself and
hold onto the things I love but I wish to
follow the one that let go. I cannot
begin to imagine him leaving me.

I'm not eager to see the sun of tomorrow,
or the clouds, or the rain. I'm not interested
in what the next day holds or the grades I
so easily say I care about but know I don't
any longer. It's not about making him proud
anymore, it's about making the others believe
I'm okay. But I'm not okay, alright?

I feel a swelling, a bursting in my chest. I can
feel the emotion overcoming me and the it
allows me to think I'm drowning. I can't breathe,
I can't speak, I sit there with tears forming in
my eyes and I let it happen; it forces me.

I go for hours without feeling a thing, I become
numb and then every once in a while I sob. I
clumsily wipe the tears from my face in fear
someone might have heard or someone will soon
see me with my reddened eyes. It hurts.

I'm beginning to break and the edges are
beginning to sharpen. My body is wilting, my
will is leaving and my hope is non-existent.
I do not go to bed feeling it will be better
tomorrow and I do not wake thinking it will
ever change. I'll never stop feeling this.

This premature heartbreak shouldn't be felt.
Not yet. But I am here, living on and I do not
want to. It is better to be busy than to lie around
depressed; except in the case that everything
is half-assed and completely dulling my mind.
Everything reminds me of him. Everything makes
me want to cry. I want to stop crying.

And maybe in the act that I stop crying, I want to
stop this aching I feel in my heart constantly. I want
to stop the burning of the tears and and the waking
up thinking he'll be there waiting for me. I want to
forget what happened and continue to go on with life
as if it never happened. Without the sadness.