You and My Walls

My hands push against walls. Walls that will always hold me, getting closer and closer, until I can't move. They surround me. White and abstract, playing ticks on my eyes. Fighting to be closer, to be the one who crushes the breathe from my lungs. All I can do is fight, and even though I know I will lose, I still fight. I push against these walls, my fingers splayed, white at the tips. I can't do this for much longer. I can't be the only one still fighting. I don't have the strength to save myself.

   When you tell me that this is all my fault, those walls inch closer. Looming over my frame, casting shadows that dance around my feet, threatening to pull them out from underneath me. You say that I am pathetic, that I need to settle down and concentrate. I am young, I need time to make mistakes, and after all, you are not that much older than I am. You are not yet an adult, though you seem to think you are. You seem to think that you can tell me what I am doing is wrong, when in fact you are doing something much worse. You still loved her, even though you said you loved me, and now you make it my fault. How in any way is that fair. At least I have been able to grow up and get over it. I don't hold anything against you, but I will not be the one to apologize. You are just as at fault as I am.

Here I am again, watching as the light fades and the darkness begins to close around me. The walls have come to a stop, if only for a while. But even they are willing to let me rest. You have left me alone through out these past months, and when I thought I needed you most you were never there. You were angry and upset, and you let that get in the way of taking the time to listen to me. To listen to what I have to say. Too little too late I guess. You are much worse than these walls. The walls that seek to end me, are willing to let me breath if not for a few hours. Maybe they enjoy this game. Enjoy the fear in my eyes, watching as I gasp for air. Maybe they are as sick and twisted as you. Maybe.