My mind is full-
thoughts spinning so fast
I can't catch a single one.
All I feel
is my heart pounding,
and a heaviness
pulling me down,
like a ship slowly sinking.
My fingers move
before I can stop them,
reaching for skin
like they've done it too many times.
It's like a habit
my body remembers-
a way to quiet the ache
with something louder.
Pain feels easier
than this emptiness.
So I let it in.
Let it take over.
Until red rivers
rise again on my skin,
and for a while,
I feel something
that makes sense.
I tell myself,
This is the last time.
The last time I break
my own promise.
The last time I bleed
just to breathe.
The last time I watch
the hurt pour out.
But it never is.
It's just the next
last lie
I tell myself
to survive.
YOU ARE READING
Trapped in my own head
PoetryShe is an outcast. She finds it easier to express what she feels in the form of writing. Whether it is poems, letters or long texts. These are poems that she writes trying to describe how it feels to live with certain mental health issues, in a worl...
