I Do Not Need Help.

There's this theory I have, that I don't need help.
Not when I'm walking through the shadows alone.
Not when silent tears stream down my cheeks.
Not when my heart screams out all the words I wish I could say, and yet, my lips refuse to move.
Not at night, when my bleeding thoughts prevent sleep.
Not when I scribble my heart out, ink bleeding onto paper, realising that my scribbles held raw feelings.

Not when I stare at the blank page before me, thinking of the words I'd lost, writing about the last person who fit my rhyme.

Not when my smile breaks into tears.
No. I tell myself.
I stand true to my theory.
I don't need help.