The battle of home.

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by TheWhisperingTrees

by TheWhisperingTrees

I fear my head
Is too full of thoughts
That scare me
Into staying awake
To write poems
That explain
Away the pain
And distract me
From the lonliness
That made it's home
In the corner
Of my bedroom
When I was 6 years old.

My head is too full,
How do I know what to write about?
So many thoughts.
And thoughts are feelings.
And feelings are words.
What do I do when I have
Too many words.
It all comes spluttering out,
Like ink from a broken fountain pen,
Dripping onto the page
And spreading,
Staining the page
Like blood stains clothes,
What do I do
When there's too much blood?
And it doesn't fit neatly onto the page?

It doesn't make sense,
Just like this poetry,
When thoughts blend,
Blend to make a concoction
Of suicidal behaviours,
And self destructive tendencies,
It seems to come out muddled,
And bad tasting.
Like those potions
We all made in the garden as kids.
I want my thoughts to be pretty,
Even if they are dark.
Because depression is beautiful,
And romanticed.
Even with my arms all scratched up,
Aren't I pretty?