cynicalide

there's an inescapable loneliness at three in the morning when you're the last person to fall asleep and you suddenly know how it would feel like to be the last person alive on earth. it's why conversations are so intimate at that time, why parties are filled with an excitement that can't be found elsewhere. because you are fighting against the loneliness together. but the steady rhythm of your sleeping breaths, the ticking of a watch i'm not even sure exists, the streetlights shining down on empty roads are all reminding me that i am not fighting the loneliness. i lost the battle before the war was declared. at three in the morn

I wake up every morning to the sound of my alarm clock shrieking i-told-you-so's and yesterday's regrets tangled in my hair. My reflection in the bathroom mirror can't look me in the eye as I try to brush the failure out from between my teeth and wash the disappointment from my eyes. I count out my mistakes on shower tiles and drops of hot water and try to wash them down the drain with the soap suds or lose them in the steam. My bedroom carpet is stained with cigarette burns, hot chocolate, and bad decisions, and they just won't scrub out or be ignored. I sit at the kitchen table and I'm filled to burst with weak coffee and weak excuses a

if nobody cares, then nobody asks, and lies go unsaid, undetected, uncalled. and i'm fine. i'm always fine. i walk through crowded hallways, bumping into countless people, and no one sees me. i begin to wonder if i'm really here. and i'm fine. i fake a smile and try to shrug everything off. i am nonchalant, even if it is only skin deep. my laugh is just this side of hysterical, and no one listens to notice. and i'm fine. the world is falling apart at my feet, shattering into a million pieces that can never be put back together. and i'm fine. my heart is breaking and i'm sitting in the dark coughing up all the lies i was fed. tears are

years have passed since a single tear left the shelter of your eye. it's like when you have a bad experience with alcohol, and suddenly, even the smell of the drink makes you nauseous. just thinking about it makes you want to retreat to the bathroom with your finger down your throat. because everytime you cry, you remember the him he was, the her she wanted to be, and the them that could never be a them because happy endings don't exist in reality, and there is no such thing as a small lie, and the rain is not the sky crying over their ending. it is just water falling from clouds because it got too cold and too heavy to fly anymore. and th