Find me the nicest mental hospital.

Did you know that this is my sanity? This is my sanity so basically I am not a sane person. I just want to be in a really nice mental hospital. My parents are rich and care what people think, so if they actually knew I was crazy, they would put me in a really nice mental hospital. So I'm considering letting them know about my craziness. It's there. It's there. It's there. Because I just want to be in a really nice mental hospital. I'm thinking a white fluffy bed and pretty plants and craft time every day at 4:30 with meds coming every three hours.

I've been trying so hard to keep it all together.  I haven't cried in months. I do my hair everyday. I shower more than the average person. I actually like shaving my legs. I wear expensive clothing. I always make my bed. I laugh and smile. So the last time you saw me, I probably looked put together. But I'm not. I've just been trying to keep these things inside of me under control. You probably think I'm a nice person. I'm not, just letting you know. And I don't know who this YOU I'm talking to is, so basically I am talking to myself again. Mom, start calling around. Find me the nicest mental hospital.

Remember the first time we talked all night? That's when I decided my life goal is to end up in a really nice mental hospital. Is there a college degree for that? Oh yeah, it's called creative writing. Because all the best writers go insane. But we talked all night and I'm in love with you, thought I'd throw that in. This was not meant to be about love because I am sick of all the shit about love. Love love love. But this is now about love because everything comes down to love. How can the word love even fit in my mouth? How can the word love even come out of this mouth that tells so many lies? At least my lips are pretty. Can lips be pretty?

We're swimming, but not in the lake. We're swimming through life. We're swimming in this life and I think I'm drowning. I'm drowning in this sea of supposed good news. I drown when I look in your eyes. But I like your eyes. Your eyes are my poison and I've been frantically staring at them all along. But this damn drowning makes me feel alive so I'm not going to look away. How does the word ALIVE even begin to explain this? Alive doesn't explain it. Alive can't explain it. But maybe love can. Maybe love can explain everything. But the word LOVE doesn't even fit in my mouth which we already talked about and hey, I'm repeating myself again. So Mom, start calling around. Find me the nicest mental hospital.

And please hurry.