and those mixed up words that you try to keep in line keep screaming. those thoughts you try to filter into something you can explain keep getting more and more vague. the flashes of the tv screen will hopefully blind you once and for all so you'll have an excuse to stay inside. those simple decisions you cant seem to make are frustrating and those pacing words that your mother says are too too fast mean so much sense ironically to you when every one else is trying to keep up with your words in fast forward trying to put them together as they playing them in rewind after you say them to try, try and understand the stupid simple conversation you just had with them about some amazing artist, or your favorite dress as they look for some clue to your secrets, or some above and beyond inspiration that they are hoping you, as a writer, will give them. sorry not today. that medicine you know isn't working but you refuse to stop taking is making you frail. those not-so-bad-not-meant-to-be-good-compliments give you way too much hope. the other pills your therapist says will cure you of the evil disease that has taken over your thoughts and body will only be taken on days you don't drink which are becoming less often because all you want to do is feel good and drunk is the only time you do. that failing grade, those failing days are normal now. for it has been over a year and you have not once, but well, no, once, felt good in all that time. you're pathetic and you know it so...uhh clap your hands? well that's what you feel like, a show, a stupid fucking show where you try to make them see you but all they see is a fucking show of you. sound the same? yeah well its completely different. they see the fake you. that's all they'll ever know. its good they like it i guess. i'm glad they like you michelle. michelle? me? no no they don't know me. maybe some day i can meet this girl they all seem to like. maybe one thinks he loves. well they don't no, he doesn't. everything you look at burns to gold in your mind, fuck everything means something to you. you, mean everything to me. you? no clue. i thought i was weak because i was tired i thought i was tired cause i was busy i thought i was busy cause i was fun i thought i was fun cause of my medication, i think my medication is making me weak. well fuck it, i want to be as skinny as a model with my eyes all painted black. so fuck you i'm on my chosen road. that's right don't try to intrude i'm a determined girl and ill get there. the road you want me to take is flooded by my tears so ill take mine. if i ever get to the end ill invite you to get a glimpse of what you can't believe you always missed. the real me. no questions fucking asked. the fucking real me. look at the fucking scars on my right arm and maybe you can have an idea of how little you know about me. what the fuck is that scar its not when i fucking fell off the bed do you honestly believe that? its from a fucking knife you fool. look under my bed- there it is -probably with blood still on it -there it fucking is. don't tell. cause if you take my comfort i don't know what ill do. don't lift up the covers. 

this is the moment that you know that you told her that you loved her but you dont