sexy leaves (still rough around the edges but whatever)

Violence. Is this what silence sounds like? How are we to recognize a cry for help; what will it look like? You looked nice tonight; although, I did not see you for I was caught in the shade between green and blue, hands clenched around my wrists, rocking back and forth in a puddle of someone's spit or vomit on somebody's carpet- or was it a tile floor? My eyes were sore. This is a closed door. I am trying to be honest- I promise; seriously, this is me being honest. Sometimes when I believe there is nobody looking I fall to my knees and begin thanking the trees for having such sexy leaves. I feel the need to leave, only problem is I have nowhere to go. All alone. I just needed to know that I could exist on my own. Somehow nothing I think ever ends up becoming as pretty in real life as it is in my mind. And now I'm all alone. Nothing but a throbbing head and a bed. The only thing with the "quitting while you're ahead" theory is this: if you're never ahead then when do you know when to quit? Don't stop, you can't finish. I can hear a tiny violin playing in the distance in commemoration of all my sins committed. Most nights I can taste silence; it tastes like regret and smells like burning, rotting fish. Violence.