Hazy, Trashed, and Scattered

I'm sick of tired, puffy eyes
and the sinking of a stomach that use to be floating from the flaps of intangible butterflies.
I'm sick of avoiding hallways, conversations, holidays, anxiety attacks.
I can't hold my composure in the presence of others as the memories come flooding back.
I'm sick of blaming myself for a decision that had nothing to do with me, just a pawn used for new thrills.
and yet, stressing myself out from guilt enough to run through bottles of sleep enducing pills.

I'm sick of wanting karma to bite.
And the flammible liquid of all these lies to ignite
and explode into a burst of orange flames with internal carnation.
I'm sick of wanting isolation,
the sudden end to all my righteous indignation.
At the same time, I'm sick of wanting to be lost in a crowd of those who could care less than to demodulate
my inner thoughts. Strangers that have more important things to do than analyze me and my emotional state.
Comforting to not be alone, at the same time alone enough to not want to escape.

I'm sick of having my thought process conquered by one, single body.
And the hopes of one day seeing an outstretched palm of camaraderie.
Every notion has been clotted with a face and name
and a label of two beings that must now be disclaimed.

I'm having a hard time forgetting.
The happiness that sugarcoated my heart drips away with this new, vicious, bitter setting.
and yet, I can forgive so easily these deeply ebbed scars that will not be concealed.
I'm sick of needing to know this is real.