two a.m. overdramatic, pointless, incoherent. Sorry.

review?

I'm not here today, she's thinking. The math book's open on her desk and the pencil in her hand is shaking almost imperceptibly. Her nails are bloody, bitten to the quick. There are numbers on the calculator. Sometimes she likes numbers, understands them, because they make sense and there is always an answer, a right and a wrong. Not here today, she thinks, but she is. There is not always an answer, and when there is, sometimes it's the wrong one, even if it's right. And then who's to say that it is really the answer at all? Sometimes, she thinks, answers aren't terribly important- less important than the question even, and maybe she just hasn't been asking the right questions. She wishes she could believe that numbers matter. Right now, she wishes she could believe that anything matters. Because nothing is anything, and she's wondering if maybe (is the moment everything?) because if all of my moments are nothing, she thinks, then is sixteen years of nothing still nothing? Suffocating, she wants to scream. Digging deeper into this rut until it becomes a grave, breathing the same air every day until it is not even oxygen anymore, and you're just going through the motions, waiting politely to drown. She thinks about that for a moment, what would happen if she screamed, but it's alright, everything's alright, because she knows that she will not. Pencil to paper, mechanical movements, hieroglyphics on a page, and so it reads. And reads and reads and reads. She's having difficulty, lately, knowing what's important. Things are fading. She can't believe in anything anymore, she doesn't have any answers. She would bleed or burn, wishes she could, just to know something for sure. Thought once that she had found an answer, walking home alone in the rain. Washed away and drunk on empty and oxygen. It never lasts though, and now she can't decide whether maybe it was a lie, or maybe everything since has been. Something about the rain, though, forces her to breathe. If that's truth, she thinks...and it's not so bad.