In a room without a window in the corner.

I'm being pushed.

I'm walking towards a brick wall unwillingly.

I can't stop myself, but I don't really want to hit a brick wall.

Who does?

Maybe I did, once, when I was eight.

Vying for attention.

I always wanted to break my arm, just so people would ask why.

Why?

So people would look at me and go,

"Why did she run into a brick wall...?"

Just so they would talk.

This is like watching a car wreck in slow motion.

I feel the immediate need to help, but I just can't. I can't bring myself to it.

I'm running into my own brick wall. Leave me to my peace. I'm trying to get my own.

I hate that. Watching this happen and glorifying myself simultaneously.

It's not right.

It's not right.