I'm Not Going To Answer So Pretty Anymore Poem by Simon Lawson

I am in so much distress about where I am,
I feel so absurdly stuck,
suffocatingly letting go of the rope that was lifting me,
I want to scream,
viscerally,
until my throat is raw,
because I'm not happy here,
I'm sick of smiling for those around me,
I can't let them know I've failed,
that this is just as bad as I thought it would be,
that they knew it would be,
I am not happy here,
I am not thriving,
I am barely surviving,
I live in that state where you're on constant high-alert,
where you're just doing what you can to stay half sane,
a growing cavity within myself,
I'm clawing away at my patience,
bloody hands still scraping mercilessly against these walls,
I have done this to myself,
I am doing this to myself,
to fall,
under a thousand floors,
under waxed floorboards,
a silent box,
quiet, hidden, oblivion
but I must say I'm fine,
or must I?

I'm going to share it now,
it will seep like blood from my lips onto those around me,
but if they ask,
they deserve the stains,
no more will I bind those lips shut to keep linen pristine,
and maybe once I let it pour down my chin and chest and broken heart,
I'll cough up enough to breathe again.