Something About Me

I always forget.

I'm never sure.

I'm insecure.

I wander and drift.

Nothing stays in my head for long, and when it does it's mixed up or wrong.

I never know what to say; sometimes I think I'm not okay.

In my head I scream.

I wish you could hear me so I wouldn't have to speak; because when I talk to you I feel like I can't breathe.

It's as if my very words are strangling me.

You look at me staring into nothing, searching so desperately for words that I know I've already spoken.

Struggling to make my point, and unsure if you care of what I said before.

Sometimes you make me feel like what I want means nothing at all.

I don't want to comprehend.

I wish I could forget.

I'm positively doubtful.

It's all in my head twisted and wrecked.

I've stumbled over my words again, and you still can't hear me screaming.

I'm still calmly suffocating, blankly staring, and redefining pointless words.

Still everything means nothing.