Breaking Point #

i’m suffocated as hell,
everywhere.
every goddamn place i go—
at home, in class, even when i’m outside,
it’s like the air’s trying to crush me,
like i’m drowning in this shit,
and no one even fucking notices.

i can’t move.
my own thoughts—those goddamn thoughts—
they’re chaining me down,
twisting inside my head with no way out.
i’m like a ticking fucking time bomb,
and it won’t be long before i explode.
the dam’s gonna break,
shatter,
blow to pieces.
maybe i even want it to.

there’s something almost peaceful in imagining it,
the collapse, the destruction, the fucking end.
keeping this shit in?
it sucks.
who the hell would i tell anyway?
no one listens.
no one gives a damn.
if i break in silence,
maybe the only thing they’ll notice is the blood.
maybe that’s the fucking language they’ll understand.

and sometimes i wonder—
the knife, the cut—
would it feel like freedom?
would it finally make sense of all this?
shit, maybe i’m twisted for thinking that.
but it’s clearer than anything else right now.

i wanna scream.
i wanna fucking roar,
like i’m achilles on the battlefield,
but without the hero bullshit.
it’ll be a total collapse,
a full-body fucking breakdown.
painful? hell yes.
but freeing, too, maybe.

will it feel like shattering glass?
like every fragile part of me
splitting into a thousand pieces, sharp as hell?

or is it the walls crumbling,
those goddamn walls i built so high?
brick by brick, coming down,
leaving me bare, exposed.
would i be laid open, vulnerable,
or just a heap of broken parts on the floor?

i don’t fucking know anymore.
it’s a mess, chaos—
a shitstorm i can’t control,
like a flood drowning me inside.
i’m holding on,
barely,
but i can feel myself slipping.
when that dam bursts,
it’ll be violent.
it’ll be a goddamn disaster,
and when it’s done,
will i even care what’s left behind?

is this me trying to tell you what’s going on in my head?
or is it my final fucking farewell?