The voice in my head tells me not to trust,
calls me harsh names that would make anyone cry;
darkness engulfs;
my future, I adjust,
the pain causes pieces of the old me to die.
Tears stream down my face when I’m alone,
the fight never ends unless white is waved;
cuts that mark victories,
trophies we own,
relief from the terror is always craved.
The long tunnel with no light at the end,
death seems easier than this constant routine;
troubles and hurt,
all I need is a friend,
a simple text asking how I have been.
But I lie, responding to the question,
“I’m Fine,” which worsens my depression.
