It’s that short breathing, feet sweating, lip biting kind of scared.
It’s the heaving breaths of your own conscience enveloping the tremble. I mean, I’ve got it too.
I’m scared of thinking so much that there won’t be any wonders or stutters left.
I don’t want to run out of books or concerts. Most girls are afraid they’ll run out of Nicholas Sparks. Slap yourselves. And read a book with 3 words you don’t understand. And read them and read them because you don’t understand. You really don’t get it. Quit being scared of not knowing.
I’m petrified of not knowing.
“You don’t know.” -Mom
I’m scared out of my wits of suicide because I’m afraid of my inside wanting to finish off my outside. And all because of the outside. And I don’t know about suicide or what the side effects of suicide are or wtf suicide is.
Being is a side effect of suicide.
Eating out and reading the encyclopedia seem like viable side effects of suicide.
Every lullaby and utter and knee slap are side effects of suicide and how does life not lead to suicide. I mean, our body is what kills us in the end.
Psyching myself out.
Knees cold. Feet itch.
Lets play paranoia I’m scared.