When I'm talking to you, I'm on cloud 9
but when you leave, I'm
miles below the surface.
I try to combat the suffocating darkness with fantasies of
us, or even
fictional characters.
I push everyone away.
They ask how I am,
they wonder where I've gone,
and I answer each one calmly
where inside,
I am burning.
So I picture us kissing,
paste on a smile,
and give short,
simple answers.
But really, I still
have a life.
I wish I could talk to you,
be on cloud 9
all the time.
But my parents