You say you don't want to live

  But you run that much faster.

  You say you don't want to go

  But you break down at stop signs.

  Success is not the goal

  You comfort with kind eyes

  Yet when it comes to yourself

  How is it you only see

  Above ninety-nine?

  You run until you forget how to breathe

  Because you really believe

  That if you can breathe

  Then you're doing it wrong.

  And if you're doing it wrong, then everything will be wrong.

  Even in the deepest part of you

  Everything will be wrong.

  You run and pretend

  You're doing this for anything

  That's more than a numbing pill.

  A moment in between being and not being

  That silences the ghosts that creep

  And the doubts that sleep

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Under your skin and breathe.

  A moment of not being here

  That fogs the eyes unclear

  And lets the body just be

  Without the always pressure of being.

  Because sometimes you don't want to see.

  All the sights slumbering in your lids

  You just want to delete.

  Forget the now and then

  And exist in something that's merely here.

  Sometimes you want to disappear

  Not behind death doors not that kind of leave

  No

  Not that kind of leave.

  But the kind where you let go of every piece

  Let it float and join the clouds and be

  Out of shape and out of ideals

  Disappear out of that thing

  You call me.

  Success is not the goal.

  You say in sharp pants

  Like you didn't cross the whole word for a resemblance of a you can.

  Success is not a guarantee

  You repeat in your screams

  Like you can sleep at night without a grade saying you're still here.

  How much is you

  And how much is a simple primitive hunger for a win?

  How much of you is alive

  Under all those wins?

  You lay up at night

  Awake with all the voices that cry

  What you did wasn't enough

  What you carried didn't measure up.

  Moving onto your side you grasp

  The threads of your hair and hold onto them

  Afraid

  Always always so afraid.

  With a desperation that calls the tears upfront

  Because they seem like all the threads and ends

  You always lose between your thumbs.

  You lie awake at night

  Coiling fingers into ashy hair

  Reflecting the forever ache

  Of never being enough.