I hope things continue to change

It's hard to go on when I keep saying the same things. It's a lot more dangerous to speak with a tongue that has been weighted down with words said with unapologetic anger that isn't as uncommon as you may think. I'm not as mad as I seem, or I am angry all of the time. I can't really tell. I'm aware, however, that there is something that is not being filled.
I can understand how my heart could be mistaken for a body of water. The further you walk, the harder it is to see your feet. You move your toes into the ground because you know that it's there, even if nobody else does. But by the time the calves are no longer visible, people lose their nerve. No one has the lung capacity to just hold their breath and sink.
I've thought about it a lot lately, thinking about how maybe I should get ready to turn back. I swear, after this pack, it's over, after this bag, I'm done. But it never turns out being that easy. I like to say that I can't help it, but it's really just that I don't want to be able to help it. I want it to control me so then I can have a hearty and reasonable excuse. How can I fight what I cannot fight? This way, it's easier for me to ignore what I already know. This way, no one can hold this knowledge against me. I like to think that i can't do anything. I like to think that something bad is going to happen. I like to think about what I would do and the things I could say and the people I would have to call and the tears I could form, and would they be smooth or rough like they get sometimes? But I don't know about crying. It shakes my chest, or it ruins my dress. And it's despicable, really, or at least, that's how I feel after I let my emotions get the best of me.
I also know that I definitely cannot stay here forever. I don't even remember getting here in the first place. I know there was plane, a vomiting air ride and a bathroom or two. My eyes were like stones, but I couldn't help that. I'm not really sure which foot I put first through which door, but it certainly brought me here. To this bedroom to this state to this dining room table to this sand. Since I got here, my heart is going on like some sort of clock without an alarm, and it's constantly reminding me not to get comfortable, because I've got to move on and I've got to get out. I need to go somewhere that leaves me with no doubt, and if this wall won't come down I guess I will tear it apart myself.