The chords slip in through her ears.

Hard, depressing, notes and words and lyrics fill the room.

Everything reminds her of her.

She wants to scream and curse and punches the wall.

She wants something to take away the pain.

She cradles her head and rocks back and forth.

She's so vulnerable.

She hates the love she's feeling.

But she wants it so badly.

But she can't have it. She won't let herself have it.

The love she feels is wrong. She doesn't want people to think she's wrong.

Blood courses through her veins as she heats up, still thinking of her.

She wishes so badly she can go to sleep and never wake up.

She's never been so in love. Never so depressed.

She doesn't want to admit it's love.

But it is. She can't deny it anymore.

She wishes that she wasn't so nice, so loving to her.

But she thinks it's a different kind of love.

Her dreams are her nightmares. Her hopes are daydreams are a torturous curse.

She can't conjure the words to portray how empty. How sad. How broken, she's feeling.

Because words can't describe it.

You have to experience it to know.

Metaphors are not the place for raw emotion.

The words should just run their course, coming out as bluntly as they can.

Because there is no way to sugarcoat these feeling with pictures and imagery.

A/N: This poem is pretty much self explanatory...and a hundred percent true as well