Mental Illness
My Anxiety drips down the base of my skull like a wound
that I can not control. My depression wrapped me in its unforgiving arms
like a snake, I can no longer breathe.
It is staring me down with its beady eyes interlinked with my soul.
Like a virus it jumps down my throat pulling at every screaming cell
within me.
The bags under my eyes are not from lack of sleep.
I am so dreadfully tired that I am stuck awake ceaselessly my pain screams
to the air above.
My blood boils in anger and in rage, Like a tea kettle firing on the
stove.
My gnawing mind unendingly talking,
I am a maze of thoughts that I can not break from.
Oh Lord, Oh Lord. Save me from my torment,
For I fear of drowning.
My eyes are weary and my stomach is gurgling.
I am tormented night and day. By this constant peg of fear.
It comes upon me like a shadow in the night and grips me in its cold hands.
And I am forced to overcome, or to sit there and cry, but my eyes
Can shed no more tears.
My depression laces a noose around my neck as my anxiety ties my hands.
Depression releases the chair from underneath me and I gasp until
the illusion of pain no longer clouds my eyes.
Although I fight this every day, I will not let me die.
No matter how much it begs for the sweet release of death..
To no longer feel.
But I must find reasons to stay alive, I must see the sunrise.
Mental Illness comes in may ways shapes or forms
It does not care weather you are rich or poor, Black or white, Yellow or even green,
It does not care weather you are to skinny, or fat, or curvy.
It doesn't matter weather you have acne or flawless skin, it comes to you
within the mind, It has no taste or preference for who it chooses its victims.
For like Love it is blind to how you look on the surface, in this social world,
The surface is all that holds you.
It does not care weather you have money or you do not, it will whisper into your ears.
Like a mouse in the silent of nights.
Its old hands have killed and taken many, its wrapped its hands around the throat of life to
snuff it out if it can and then it moves on to its next victim as death takes a hold.
Depression does not care weather you are young or old,
Age is not something it cares nor knows of.
Its prey is anyone it sets its slithering eyes onto to.
But me?
It will not take me, for I will not be its victim forever.
YOU ARE READING
Spoken Word #2 (2018-2020)
PoetryBook number two on the poems that I have written, and will continue to write. Its really the only thing I know how to do. Sometimes I feel is if its the only thing I know how to do. While I stay silent .. Physical words are so hard to speak, All I...
