Do you feel that?

I'm finding it hard to breathe.

Tears are welling up and Pink is killing me.

My tongue is rough, my throat pierces my heart with every breath.

It's easy to play the song over and over. Make the hurt twist inside me.

Music isn't a comfort for me anymore. Unless it's thumping dirty house. Takes my mind away, takes the pain away.

Everyone asks how I am, and I tell them I'm fine. Then the music stops.

My i-Pod is satanic. The opening bars of U2's "Where The Streets Have No Name" make me cry. Why is music my enemy when I need it the most? Why can't the songs end happily?

I sit alone. No where to go. Nothing I want to do. My blog is my therapist. The therapist who doesn't say anything, just stares back at me, showing me who I am, and what I'm not.

I always listenened to sad songs and thought "If I were in that position, I could relate to those songs..." You really can't. No one knows the pain you feel. No one thinks exactly the way you do. Bono doesn't know shit. Pink would never feel this knife. Mariah would never shed the tears. Pop is just that. Something that explodes after the expiry date. My music is now. If not forever, but it is for now. And now it hurts.


OnAirwithBlackPunk : Janet Jackson Featuring Q-Tip - Got 'Til It's Gone