I pop off my scalp like a bottle top. Reach inside. My fingers travel in my mind, rows upon rows of bottles. Happy thoughts. They buzz and hum as my hand passes over them I can feel them. But I can never see them. They’re only in my mind. My friends come to me now, screaming, crying, hurting… I remove one of the many bottles Give it to the closest friend. Another Another Another More, more, more… All my bottles. Happy thoughts. For my friends. But none left
For me.
Happy thoughts. They’re running out.
None left.
What will I do when the Happy thoughts. Are all gone? What will my friends do when the Happy thoughts. Are all gone? Their happiness Is all that matters To me. It’s all that matters. When that is all gone
All
my
bottles.
What will matter? Will anything matter? Their happiness Is all that matters To me. When that is gone Will I matter
To them?
YOU ARE READING
Monsters
Poesia"A bunch of poems about mental illness" didn't sound great as a title, but that's basically what this is. This is my first book and I honestly just wrote these in my notes app, went "Screw it," and posted them. If these don't correlate to specific e...
