Nothing. Really.

hazel bottle. ready to explode with the stress, tension, and just the lack of feeling anything anymore.
and that silly comment you just made about conventional manners, and how we should conform to their ways.
makes me, makes me, makes me--
hold it in.
smile!
so i go on to tell you about why we choose to romanticize, as if it is a different time, and our lack of modern interest.
and you still press with your sad suggestions--nonconformist suicide in my eyes--which looks to me like--
no, i won't let it. i won't let it get to me.
it breaks my heart!!!
i hold you even more tightly so that my eyes feel tight as well.
and suddenly it's as if a suicidal heart is pressing on my eyes from behind.
dust trapped by eyelashes, or so i say.
and i believe i am now truly the rain on your parade.
and you don't notice when i look up and smile and you ask me what's wrong.
so i shake. and i shake my head.
and i cannot stop what has been set in motion. so i continue to tremble.
i continue to tremble and i am having a breakdown.
breakdown.
i hear it in the music of each syllable you speak.
and please don't you dare apologize. it will only make this sickness worse.
i'm not sure what's wrong with me.
i guess i just need a dose of: fresh air. to be alone. time.
i wish i was normal right now.
i wish.

[i will be just fine. just don't look at me.]