Letters

I broke my clean streak the other day.
I was clean for about six and a half month but now my leg looks like it used too.
It shows how I've broken.
I'm broken down like an old car.
but instead of a leak of the thick brown liquid called oil I leak the blood I'm supposed to value as my life.
Sometimes I wish I'd just run out of blood.
Run out of oil.
Of gas.
I wish I'd just stop working.
I wish I physically was how I feel.
I feel like I'm already gone. I feel like my days on this earth are limited to the time i spare for myself. I just want to go home so bad.
I just want to go home. Home isn't even home anymore. My home is Fairland Indiana.
My home is 110 East Chestnut street.
My home is Triton central school. My home is Larken, and hannah squared and bethany and rileigh and levi my home is scary chandelier and horrible lunch. My home is the grain mill next door.
My home is the sound of the neighbor kid outside telling everyone about a stupid bridge he'd found.
My home isnt Shelbyville. It's just not. My home isnt this awful house in this awful neighborhood. My home is definitely not the school. Its not hiding in the guidance office during lunch hour because nobody wants to be my friend.

None of this matters, though.
If everything goes alright, my home will be six feet under the ground, or maybe if my parents go the cheap rout a small earn in the living room.
Im broken inside. And i haven't figured out how to fix myself.

Notes