i wanna die. i wanna die.
i wanna die. i wanna die.
i wanna die. i wanna die.
but i can't seem to pull the trigger.

how do you explain something
that you don't even understand yourself?

that's what mental illness is like.
always searching for the horizon
or some sort of earthly catastrophe
that could explain the brokenness
you feel inside your heart.

always afraid of getting
close to the thing most precious
to you out of fear that you might
break it or that it may be tainted by your demons.

that piercing feeling in your stomach
that you can't seem to shake in the
middle of the night as you lie awake
wondering if you deserve to see another sunrise.

mental illness is like a never-ending
dream of constant chaos
but underneath are broken
and beautiful people who
deserve to be loved and known.

i no longer find solace
in my solitude because the voices in
my heard are too loud.
                      "your nose is too big"
"you're too fat"

          "you'll never be good enough"

"no one likes you"

"better off dead"

and the office talk begins.

i'm not scared of dying.
i'm scared of not knowing who will be at my funeral.