Words of a teenage escapist.

Chryss is a dot. A dot that no one cares for. A dot who wishes she never existed. A dot who wants a way out. A dot who's getting tired of pretending. A dot made of shattered dreams and aspirations. A dot who's fed up. A dot who wants support but instead gets discouragement and false hope. A dot who's burdened with the complexities of life. A dot who's expected to act like an adult but is still very much a child. A dot who's been shouted words that hurt and leave deep wounds that sting and numb the senses. A dot who needs strength but is put down by her many, many weaknesses. A dot who's not allowed to cry or else she'll be lashed out. A dot who doesn't feel loved. A dot who seeks darkness and solitude, since they seem to be her most trusted companions since of late. A dot who has a lot of unwanted secrets. A dot who has a lot of hidden sadness.

Secret tears fall and there's no one to comfort her. Silent sobs can't be heard in the dead of the night and she feels so tired, just so tired of everything. And she wonders is she'll still be able to handle all the petty but very troublesome things that are weighing her down and eating her up and killing her slowly as she silently and secretly (always secretly) cries herself to sleep.

Chryss is a dot that is very, very sad.