This article is written by a student writer from the Her Campus at UNT chapter.
They’ve forgotten your name, but I haven’t.
I bathe in my nightmares like a religious habit.
I can wear the fanciest dress and dance with the music,
but one sign of you and I lose it.
It’s just not the same to go out anymore.
I’m a prisoner of my own war.
They see my smile and my aura ever so calm,
but they won’t feel the room spinning or my sweaty palm.
The shakes I get when the room is crowded
Until my vision gets dark and clouded.
So instead of the parties or outings
I stay alone in my room with my pouting.
I’ve filled up my tank just to drive back home.
I want happiness even if it’s only a loan.