My life is falling apart.
Running away seems like the only plausible solution.
But I can't, I...can't. It's what I've been doing for the past five years.
I stopped eating again in a desperate attempt to re-assemble
the puzzle of inner peace I had (and lost).
The parents won't notice. They never have;
they're too busy criticizing who I've become.
I don't blame them, yet sometimes wish they knew.
Maybe they'd treat me differently.