The tragedy that is myself

Perhaps I wouldn't move if the train came. Not out of courage, just curiosity. What does it feel like? or just the experience, maybe. I sit down in the shower sometimes until the water forgets it's warm and I forget I have skin. In that moment, and that moment only I think nothing but oh, I feel- I feel everything like a flood, swirling, raging inside, beating ferociously on the locked doors. On the surface? an ingrained smile, a shrug, a practiced "whatever." I'm not good at being good. Not when good means loud, bright, easy. Sometimes I scream like my ribs are splitting, but my voice, my throat- remain stubbornly silent. I wish one day, you would knock, and no one would answer- No one would come to the door. Because perhaps I'd have reached where I've always wanted to be, or perhaps I'm just not there anymore.