Where are these salty tears coming from?

I don’t remember beckoning them here.

Just a moment ago, I was fine,

Now my cheeks are wet, and fingers too,

All I wanted was to talk to you.

I’m feel so tense, with all the constant worrying,

Do I have enough money?

Did I do enough studying?

I’m an extra in a Tim Burton horror,

I scowl at the smeared black mascara.

All evening I’ve kept my voice steady,

Polite, proper, and I was even courteous.

This nauseating weight on my chest

Is bringing me so far down

I feel like I’m the Spanish Armada.

Maybe I need to cut anchor and fly,

But I know I’ll crash, and what then?

Those aren’t odds that I like,

Will I just have to wait it out?

Because I don’t think I’ll be able to handle it.

I’m all out of balance,

Maybe I just need a little more self expression,

I’m a slave to my senses and feelings.

No one wants to be near me,

I run for it, every time I feel this way.