There's this weird internal conflict and it won't let me sleep. This stupid fucking battle pecking in my brain and it's exhausting. It'd be much easier to turn to you, whispering the secrets that plague me.

Yet I don't. And I can't.

You're not here.

So I shout, instead, admist the masses.

Laughing because telling the turth up front makes it easier to hide under the surface. 

So I stare at your name in my contacts, shaking and crying in the dark, holding onto your interpretation of me. But you wouldn't answer if I called.

But please. I can't be alone right now. 

Please.