Is there an emergency service For the mentally distressed? If someone pretends to care, Do they love me more or less? How can I be sure, When I constantly digress?
I need an emergency service For the mentally distressed.
But I learn to be cautious with my fantasies. They can lead to an ache that begins deep in my body, fills my torso, and crawls down my limbs until I can no longer feel my hands and feet.
The permanent markers, Not caring who I, Really am, Down deep inside. But I just sit. And I just wait. For what can I do, Over something, That claims to be making me, Great.
Can I escape, From a world of terror? Can I escape, The crushing of dreams? Can I escape, The mess we call humanity? Because if I can't, Then why is everything I love, Escaping me?