They rain. on my parade
As I drag my sappy celebration
Into a depressive state
My eyes twirl towards the grey landscape
Nothing green, nothing blue
Only a black trail
That's shaped like a bended flute
The friends of the dead
Rise upon grief
The people of the small town
Drag themselves to leave
Their imaginations are gathered
The hallucinations possess
The hands crawl deep in the brain
As their lives are complicated
Like a game of chess
What else do they have to lose?
Their esteem and dignity
Or their trust and faith?
And they don't know
As they have themselves escape
And their cynical thoughts
Create a disturbing era
Of a thought that has a choice
But they don't think it is
Insanely, they drag their responses down
Painfully, they think they should drown
But mentally, no one hears their sound
YOU ARE READING
Mental
PoetryTRIGGER WARNING: Some poems are graphic about feelings I have experienced. This poetry book is meant to help many people get help, whoever is struggling with disorders, depression, and diseases, I am here. I am going through the same thing, I wanted...
