In this sea of lonely, The taste of ink is getting old, It's four o' clock in the fucking morning, Each day gets more and more like the last day

im so happy
i need to cry really bad
but i dont want to

let it out
i want to keep it in
all of this feeling

am i selfish for it?
for reveling in it?
cherishing it?

i wouldnt think so,
yet something tells me i am
i should let it go
or maybe not
ill bottle it up
and keep it as a noose around my neck
so as it ever fills
it ever tightens
until its contents suffocate me

some might say i died of heartbreak
but only few will really know that i died of heartmend
that i died of love

and really isnt that the best way to go?

it's not your fault so please stop your crying now