a blank white page and a swelling rage

i could tell you these things.

i could tell you the thoughts that i lock away in my head. i could tell you things that would scare you, that would make you worry constantly, that would make you watch my every move. i could tell you things that would make you be a little more careful with me, that would force you to constantly wonder if i’m okay, that would turn you paranoid because you’ll always know there’s something i’m not saying.

and a part of me wants to tell you these things so i don’t have to deal with them anymore.

but it’s my fault i have this burden, it’s my fault i asked the questions, it’s my fault i kept caring. and even if you did ask all the questions, i’d never pass it onto you.