I kept it all inside. I didn't mind feeling the pain. Oh sure, it ate away at me, but it left me human, and it left me on level. Now I don't know. I'm losing my grip. I can't find words to say, the things that are suppose to worry me don't phase me, I can't cry. I sit and think about death. I think about the way it is and the way it could be. I try to smile and face my ways through my days, but now instead of walking on air, I feel like a puppet on strings. If news doesn't come, I'm breaking down on Wednesday. If news doesn't come, sleep will. For much longer than usual.
A Static Sensation Community Member 
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