What did I do wrong?

What did I do wrong?

I’ll fix it. I’ll fix it.

I just need to know.

Ignore the punch,

the pin,

the pain.

Think.

It’ll be better,

when you know.

Can’t feel it.

Don’t have to.

You’re okay out here;

Don’t look below.

Pain’s easy,

File it away,

with the rest.

Like their death.

It was sad.

Store the funeral too.

Just a day. Just one day.

Like the crash.

That was bad,

But, the pain,

was okay.

The pain was okay.

Now everyone’s watching.

They’re talking; expecting.

You have to escape.

Emotions erupting.

The punch.

The pin.

The pain.

Shove them down.

Press them down.

Keep on smiling.

Keep smiling.

You’re not going to make it.

There’s no room. No room.

You should run.

You should hide.

This is awful; you’ll die.

They’re all watching and waiting for you to trip over,

The pain is erupting, the tears are in motion, from your gut to your throat,

try to gulp, but you choke. Still. Silent, but choking.

Provoking their movement and now they’re on fire.

They burn in your skull, behind eyes. Here they come.

Gotta run. Just keep running. To the quiet of alone. To the kitchen.

Alone now, they run. Run the tap, boil the kettle, hide the noise of your breath.

Of your breathing. The heaving of heavy hearts laborious beating. It won’t stop. It won’t stop. It won’t stop. It won’t stop. It won't stop. It won’t stop. You look to the kettle to the boiling and steaming. It won’t stop. It won’t stop. You’re reeling. You’re dying. It won’t stop. It wo—

Pour it over your hand.

It is burning—soothing.

Keep on pouring,

for as long as you dare.

The emotions are leaving.

Retreating. Defeated.

You've regained control.

Your breathing slows.

Nothing is wrong, now.

You’ve fixed it. Fix yourself.

Feel the jolt of the cold tap.

You’re back in control.