All around me,
I hear them.
Shouting.
Yelling.
Crying.
Whispering.
Hissing.
They want something,
and I know what it is.
They want me.
They want my soul,
my life.
"Who are they?'
people ask me.
'Who are you yelling at?'
people ask me.
They..
I want to tell them.
I want to tell the people,
but I can't.
I've tried,
but it makes them think
that I am crazy,
and I am starting to believe them.
But they,
the monsters,
tell me that they are real.
That they're all around me.
Even inside me.
And they scare me,
but they explain to me
that they are not what I think they are.
They say;
'We are no demons, child,'
they purr in a hiss,
'But we are you.
We are a part of you.
We are your heart that beats,
your eyes that are empty,
your scars that mark your body.
We are your insecurities,
the doubts that keep you
from doing anything.
We are your brain,
the item that sends you the orders
to purge,
to cut,
to think,
to breathe.'
But should I believe their words?
I question them,
until I look in the mirror.
Because I can see them.
I see darkness.
Darkness on my wrists,
on my scars.
I see them.
In my heart,
in my head,
in my lungs,
in my eyes,
in my body.
In me.
And I believe them...
The monsters that are in the mirror..
YOU ARE READING
I'm Just tired
PoetryThe word "suicide" have been passed around and even appeared in my mind before. What causes "suicide"? Bullying. Abuse. Depression. Pain. Neglect. And so on. These are some of my poems on suicide and the thoughts that have passed through my head. I...
