i’m still drinking coffee

i'm still drinking coffee

and i just sort of want to curl up in a ball and forget about everything.  and i just sort of want something to give way in my head and then it would all be okay because right now, i don’t want to feel anything. and i just sort of want to pretend it’s all fine because then i won’t have to think about the way i play this kind of sick game with my mind where  i stack to-do lists on my shoulders and see how much pressure i can take before something collapses. and my hands shake and my knees wobble. and the feelings mash together poisoned breadcrumbs and made up weather. and i’m playing this game with my mind where i wonder how many cups of coffee it’ll take for you to notice me. how many times i’ll be sitting here alone in the empty before you see me. because there’s a voice in my head and it’s not that i can hear it out loud. and i guess it’s just my self-hatred. which is really just me. which is really just the bent burning embers of tears mixed with staring in the mirror begging the stars to give me anything that looks like talent. because then i’ll know who to be. because then i’ll be more than another kid worrying about money. and i’ll gloss over my face for you because i don’t know if i trust you and this is an interview. and i have to be perfect. so here i go. here’s everything i never thought i’d say to anyone sanded around the edges, rose-tinted lenses because i don’t want to scare you with the pitch-black colour of my thoughts as they stare back at me. blinking, once. ever so quickly.


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