The nights are the worst,
It seems as though the darkness within wants too combine with the darkness on the outside,
The voices scream,
The tears stream,
Shaking hands,
Trembling with fear.
Fear of the dark,
Fear of the creatures that lurk,
Fear of your own mind.
The nights are when the blade shines brightest,
When your wrists itch the worst.
The nights are when the blood looks nicest,
Under your skin, about too burst.
What do I do?
How do I end these cravings without breaking my promises?
The nights are when the pills call too you,
And seem so very tasty.
The forever sleep they induce,
More irrisistable than ever.
The nights are when the pavement looks soft,
From 10 stories high,
Falling into the cushiony soft,
Forever close your eyes.
The nights are the worst, tormented and afraid.
I don't know how many more nights I'll survive,
Too see the next day.
YOU ARE READING
I Feel Too Much When I Feel Nothing At All.
PoetryThis is the poetry and thoughts of a mentally ill, traumatised me. It isn't perfect, but it's raw, and it's true.
