It's like pain in the chest,
and that too.
I feel like I'm dying,
and there's nothing I can do,
I'm not in control,
I never will be,
I'm standing here,
wishing I was "he",
I don't own my body,
it owns me,
"It's a mental illness"
There's nothing you can see,
other than the marks,
etched into my skin,
By the rough end of a drawing pin,
I know I shouldn't
I know it's bad.
I but i have voices
They're driving me mad.
"Help me sir I'm going insane"
But you won't though,
even though I'm in pain.