I Write You This.

You don't understand what it feels like to be the way i am. you don't understand the sleepless nights, the nightmares. You don't understand when i cry, you don't understand when i can't breathe, and you certainly didn't understand when i tried to kill myself.

i don't think you'll ever understand so i write you this, the nightmares are...horrible. The sleepless nights i can take who needs 8 hours of sleep anyways. The crying is painful the tears that fall from my eyes onto my stoic face, the only way you know i'm hurt is because of the tears. Without them in stoic, un-moving, unfeeling. Is it bad to say i don't remember that day i tried to kill myself? i can't remember a lot of things now, i usually had the best memory, the memory of an elephant you said. But now? i can't get up, if i drop something a few seconds later i don't remember where i dropped it or if i heard it hit the floor.

You don't understand what you've done to me. How you've broken me, it seems that the laws in your eyes and paper thin, absolutely meaningless. don't worry, i won't leave you to tell everyone what you did. i'll leave a note for them too, telling them everything, god knows you'd lie to save your ass.

The day you have to bury my lifeless body in a flowing blue dress, in the casket you hate. underneath the ground, is the day you'll finally understand what you've done to me.