Lonely 2

I run from the room, the wing whipping my face and stinging my already red eyes. You never think it will end up wrong, you only feel it when you get there. I sit under the tree, and my stomach is sore from the sprint. No one follows me outside, but I can feel them around me. Because it feels suffocating, like pressure closing in on my chest. It looks like black, murky, moldy muck seeping in the corners of my vision. It smells like blood, it's metallic stench covering my entire being, and there is a headache consuming me with my face flushing red. A pounding begins in my ears, but I can still make out the sound of my own crying. The salty tears make it to my open mouth. But still I sit there, unmoving except for my shaking shoulders. And I am quiet except for the occasional sob escaping my lips. I am suddenly thankful for this tree, because my dignity would otherwise be broken and tossed away into the wind. I wipe my face, stand up, and move on, driven by the simple reason that I must. I am weighted, but somehow free, so I decide to make the best of it. And I mark these things in my mind, my own little drama, not even real to remember. It all happens within the span of moments, and no one notices the way my eyes flicker but you. Because you know me so well. I have to remember not to make this mistake again, though. I have to remember what heart break is.

This poem is about: 
Me

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