Infinite

I can't bring myself to stop crying. I thought last week was bad, but this is worse. I don't wanna be here anymore. I don't wanna deal with it anymore. I don't care if you call me weak, because I am weak. I can't write anymore. I mean that I can't write my philosophy paper anymore. I can't concentrate. I'm too sad. Why is this happening? Why isn't he understanding? He was the one person I could turn to, and now I'm afraid.

When I think about it, I'm alone. And I know some people have it worse, but it doesn't change the fact that I have what I have.

I wish I could feel infinite.

But I look at my wrists and the imaginary slashes and see nothing infinite about me. I look in the mirror and I see my mouth forming a frown. I see the redness in my nose from the sobbing. I see my face in the mirror and see nothing but sadness in my own eyes.

I see nothing infinite.