This sickness,
This disease,
It controls me,
Consumes me.
And everytime I break free,
The voices come to haunt me,
To taunt me,
To torture me,
To target my every insecurity.
I can't fight for long,
So I give up,
I give in,
But I keep up the appearance of being free,
So no one will worry about me.
Because,
It is no longer a question of,
When will I be free?
It's the question of,
When will it end me?
YOU ARE READING
Poems/Six Word Memoirs
PoetryThis is a book of poems written by myself. I will be adding a new one every week.