They say I'm cool and brave and that the moment I lose my cool it is a sure sign of catastrophe, but right now I really want to sit in a corner and cry. They call me reliable and responsible, but right now I really want my dad to hear me out and take over things for me.
I want my dad to be here and take care of all this ordeal. Everyday he asked me how I was doing, if I was okay. I had to choose my words meticulously because I know they worry about me and helpless enough as it was, the last thing they need is to listen to me needing help but unable to help. It makes me feel worse to trouble them like that and at the end of the day, I still have to do this shit anyway so let's just walk through hell till the end.
I want to lay on the floor and stare at the patchy ceiling of mine, but dammit my place reeks of smoke now. So I crawl into someone else's bed, close my eyes under someone else's cover, and all I see is a flickering red in a sea of darkness and the sound of wood burning.
Slap me now. I need a psychiatrist.
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