There used to be days that I thought I was okay, or at least that I was going to be. We'd be hanging out somewhere and everything would just fit right and I would think 'it will be okay if it can just be like this forever' but of course nothing can ever stay just how it is forever.
Dear today, i spend all of you pretending i'm okay when i'm not, pretending i'm happy when i'm not, pretending about everything to everyone.
If she spoke, she would tell him the truth: she was not okay at all, but horribly empty, now that she knew what it was like to be filled.
Everything was okay today, but I am not feeling okay. I think that when the things you like go away, you die a little bit inside, and I think that it takes a long time for you to feel okay again.
I wont cry, it'll be fine. I'll take my last breath. Push it out my chest 'til there's nothing left.