My depression is the cieling fan.
My friends are the rope,
But I tie the knot.
My family is the sweat that drips down my face.
Your insults are the stool,
But I step onto it.
The mirror is my motivation.
The disorder contols me,
But I made the choice.
My tears are the regrets.
You were my only reason to live.
My last breath, is a thank you.
YOU ARE READING
Ceiling Fan
PoetryI am in no way commending suicide, this poem is merely a window into the mind of a suicidal person (not every single one, just by my experience)
