Not the Art Lesson I was Looking For

Does it look like the wind has whipped through my eyes? Because I feel completely hallow and yet drowning simultaneously. A long needle meant for draining lungs must have pierced my heart and I feel sick. Sick at myself for only trying to please you while everyone hushes and whispers about appeasing you. Their thought process more self centered, more on par with running from your wrath, escaping your scorn and basking only in the sunshine of your praise. I easily bore the brunt of all the wrong over the last week, I have talked you off ledges and yet not into bed, I feel pushed away while you row towards brighter, healthier shores. The pit in my stomach turns black and my face snarls to match it. It's the last thing I want to say but, my little heart breaks and I seethe with jealousy. If you come back in here I promise not to say things that will make you run away, I promise to act perky when in fact I feel so tired, tired of being the miser of my feelings and tired of over thinking my own thoughts. But you don't come back, you leave in an all too important rush, and again I find the words "my poor broken little heart" repeating repetitiously through my over thought thoughts. Did we draw the line already? Or is it that you're under the weather again? What I wouldn't give to go back to a time when I didn't feel, back to a time before these emotions took hold of my meager hand and pulled me down towards these incongruent depths. As if that time ever existed, as if I haven't always wanted you to hold me tightly and kiss me hard from the moment I set eyes on you. And so here I sit alone again dizzy from spinning my wheels and hoping that you'll hold me once more, hoping I'll find the congruence in all the incongruency, hoping that your nonresponsiveness speaks only to your status quo and not that deathly line we think we ought to draw, at this point I think we've gone far beyond doodling.