people talk about
picking up the pieces
but what about
when you can't
when you live with the mess instead
when you sit down in it
when you're left pulling the broken glass
from your legs
brushing off the debris
from your hands
using the shards of us
to cut me open again
and again and again and again
instead of grabbing the broom
people talk about the loneliness
the isolation
while cleaning out your closet
but what about when you never deal with it
when your closet is full
to the brim
when you can't even open the door anymore
and all of your emotions
spill over like boiling water
because you don't have a place to put them anymore
you talk about
getting things off my chest
but i never do
i pile on and on
until i can't breath
until i make my problems
everyone else's
until i suffocate
and i do
i keep suffocating
but it's not enough to kill me
just enough to keep me under
to keep me gasping for air
i keep suffocating
but it's not enough for anyone to notice
i just keep smiling
and saying it's okay
and laying in the glass
and wiping off the ash
trying to hide the gasps
people talk about
they talk and they talk
people talk about it'll all be okay
but what about when it's not
