Think of a monster.
Now why is it a monster?

Is it the looks?
Twisted teeth, Pointy horns,
Broadened chest, body of thorns?

The personality?
Sketchy, Judgemental, Manipulative,
A betraying spirit that doesn't forgive?

But I can guarantee that some people here
Didn't imagine anything fictional
Maybe it was a father, a mother?
A backstabbing friend?
A brother, a sister?
A manipulative boy or girlfriend?

These monsters are real
And these people just the victims
Of a living nightmare.

A free trial for suicide
Imagine how nice that'd be.

You'd be able to see
The next 24 hours
How they'd react to the news
If they'd react at all.

Imagine being able to see every cut caused,
Every rumor spread,
Every other suicide,
Caused by your own.

But imagine seeing
That nobody cared
Nobody's life would have been any different
At least it'd give you some closure.

And from there
You'd be able to decide
Is suicide really worth it?

Love could be labeled as a poison
And people would still drink it.

I'm not okay
I smile anyways.
Too sad to say
Maybe today

Plans that we made
Can't go, I'm afraid
At home with my blade
On my bed I laid

Knife crimson in hand
I don't understand
My hourglass' sand
On top, still quite grand.

When will it stop?
My blood I have to mop
As my heart will drop
Back to my bed I flop

And leaf subsides to leaf
The Great Happiness Thief
As I sank to Grief
The feeling no longer brief.

I'm not okay.

Depression is like
Taste buds slowly being ripped from my mouth
A weird feeling that anything I eat
Doesn't make it to my stomach, but,
I've gotta keep eating, I have to eat to live,
But preparing the food is just so much effort
For so little payoff.
Because it'll all just kinda taste like mashed potatoes.

I'll still be hungry afterwards
So why bother with seasonings?
Why bother with ingredients I used to like?
I can't taste them, I can't feel them in my stomach.
They just taste like plain mashed potatoes.
Why do I even eat?

I'm hungry.
I'm sick of the taste
Of mashed potatoes.
Why is this happening?

The sad part is,
It's five words
And so many people know
Just what I'm talking about.

I think I love her.
She's got beautiful eyes
And a great, little giggle
Her hair's a wavy, golden splendor
And whenever we're talking,
It just feels right.

I want to tell her this all
So why do I wait?
I don't have the right words.
I think she'll reject me.
Love has hurt me 3 times before,
So why expect anything different?

It would be so easy
To just text her, to just tell her
"Hey, I love you."
But I can't. I can't say it.

She won't like the real me.
The me with problems.
She won't like Blake,
Or how he takes over when nobody's around.
She's not ready for all the problems I'd bring.

But...
Maybe if I wait longer
Talk to her more often
Give that a couple weeks
And then take my shot.

But again...
I don't want to hurt her.
I don't want her to hurt me.
She's just so...
Precious. Innocent. Pure.
And I'm...
A mess, A wreck, So many problems

A war within my own mind
And I'm not sure who's winning.