Why do I still hurt so?
Why do I still wish to die?
Why?
Why am I still in pain?
Each day I take a little blue pill
supposedly to take the pain away
but it does not work.
This kind of pain cannot be cured
perhaps I should empty this bottle now
then I would be free
free of pain.
I stare at the little blue pills with vacant eyes.
Do it, the ghosts tell me,
Swallow them all!
It would be better than suffering, wouldn't it?
Just end it now!
No one will miss you.
You can't escape the hell your father has made.
So close,
so close am I to swallowing all the pills--
oh how I want to.
How simple--
how easy--
it would be for me to die now than live in suffering.
I am completely broken
all my strength is gone
there is no hope
no love
only pain and misery.
Is that any way to live?
Yes, indeed,
how cruel it would be to make me live in suffering.
Please, just let me die.
These goddamn pills can't save me
nothing can.
Let me be free from this incurable pain.
Let me die.
~ ~ ~
Author's Note: How odd that misery and wanting to die can inspire art in the form of poetry. I'm not going to actually kill myself, don't worry. I just really want to sometimes, and today was one of those days. I'll be ok.
YOU ARE READING
Monsters Inside My Head
PoetryWARNING: Some pieces may contain triggers for those who struggle with any form of depression or self harm. Please read with caution. I will often rearrange the chapters in the way I see fit, so please be patient and keep that in mind. This is my fir...
