I hate the way it feels in my head.
It’s almost like an itch. 
One that feels like will never go away. 
All of the air stored up in my lungs freezes. 
The whole world stops. 
I’m cold. 
I can see water.
My fingers go numb.
I want to scream. 
“She’s just moody.” 
“Teenagers…”
I can wait it out.
Don’t worry.
“Oh, thats too bad.”
“Honey are you OK?”
I’m fine, just tired.
I can pick at my chest until it bleeds.
No pain comes along.
“Ericka, you're bleeding.”
“Why are you acting so shy.”
I can’t get the words out. 
They refuse to tell the truth.
My brain has a leek. 
But I can just hide it with my hair. 
It comes in waves.
I cannot think. 
Never once have I succeeded.
The lump in my head threatens to burst.
My brain stops. 
My neck itches.
It’s bleeding now.
“You’re going to scar you're neck.” 
“Chill out already.”
The vain of their response haunts me. 
I search for any empathy.
None.