Insert some metaphor of nature relating to emotion.
Imply the severity of said situation through imagery.
Apply depth to your cause for said poem.
If you're feeling rather exquisite, form a rhyming pattern.
Congrats, you're now a poet.

I'm just going to skip the ******* and get right to the point:
I've been feeling rather numb towards life.
Whenever I put one foot forward, I'm met with taking two steps back.
With each back-step, it's becoming harder to see the light.
School questions whether I have hit an intelligence ceiling or not.
My partner is off, working on her own life.
Friends aren't around when I hit the peak of an insecure moment.
Parents can't comprehend the gap between our generations.
So, what am I left with?
Sure, I could do drugs, but I much prefer the devil's juice.
At this point I don't know if I drink too much or too little.
I admit, I admit, being drunk is when I'm at my happiest.
To forget the hauntings of stress, gives me an ******* sense of joy.
I keep searching for an answer if it's all worth it.
That's the one thing that drives me through all the hell-fire.
I haven't found it.
I long to know if there is some redeeming quality in me.
Am I worth it? Am I worth living?

There you have it, folks.
This is me. This is the real me.

Was I supposed to veer left at the fork in the road
or should I continue with here I tread?
So much confusion from the signs I read.
Is it too late to find my way?

I long to be home, finding comfort next to the fire.
It is winter and the air is bone-chilling;
memoirs of love being my last inner killing.
Please, Frost, help me find a way!

It's not too late! It's not too late!
Branches scrape as the dead oaks howl.
Fear is the new survival, reality now foul.
I cannot seem to find the path.

Minutes felt like hours, days felt like years,
and memories of a home soon began to fade away.
It was the fear and doubt that led me astray.
I don't think I can make it..

My legs collapse and the pile of snow welcomes me.
With a final look, I see a flickering, dim light.
Home! I crawl frantically through blightful white.
The light flickers desperately...then, night.

*I guess I was too late

We're not on the same frequency
and we're not on the same page of ideologies.
We cannot embrace at a lover's parallel
for that would require compromised methodologies.

We're not equal; we haven't been for some time.
To be viewed as VIP like you, would be stellar,
but to be tangible, it lusts for a certain desire
and I yearn to be more than just a cellar dweller.

We're not exposed in the same ray of life's sunlight.
Shunned away in a rotting shadow, you radiate perfection.
I plead for the warmth, for some sort of direction, and of your affection.
You're too busy dancing  in the fields, oblivious of your rejections.

If we could just be on the same wavelength,
or perhaps bookmarked on the chapter of  compromise,
we could reignite the spark we once had,
so that maybe some day, I too, may see the sunrise.

I was brought up on the notion of doing something great;
that I was supposed to end world hunger or cure cancer..or some ****.
Perhaps those are just imaginary fallacies.
I was raised to accomplish and thus, become an accomplishment.
Now, I feel that this one task is just too much to bear.
What if I was meant to live a simple, ordinary life?

My shoulders screech from the various worlds I hold.
They long for a massage and to be told, "rest now."
How many boulders must it take to finally break?
My fleshy tendons fissure while the skin cracks.
I can keep this up..keep going..work isn't over.
The job's now over until it says it is...or until I'm dead.

The body weighs heavily with an encumbering density.
Pressure so deep, my mind sinks within its darkest trenches.
"Hi, how are you?" "What's new with you?"
For a moment, a life preserver seems plausible,
but I answer with superficial certainty, one would call grace.
We both know how to answer those questions: We lie.

My life's been thrusted with expectations and goals.
I belittle my success and self-harm with failures.
Overly critical and never satisfied.
Notice me...notice me, please. I'm drowning!
Only then do we know that life's not fair.
Save me! Rescue me, with a breath of fresh air!

You have boys breaking all kinds of tender hearts
and you have hoes cheating on loyal men.
I try to make sense of this world and these 'customs,'
yet I seem to be lost on square one over and over again.

Living in this day and age is a constant game of cat and mouse,
filled with deceit, mistrust, and no respect.
What the hell happened to an unfaltering love for monogamy?
You walking scandals, tell me what the mirror'll reflect.

With all these social distortions we're afflicted with,
it's hard to tell where you fit in the spectrum.
You say cheating is simply a black and white absolute, so
in that moment, are you going to be the victim or the venom?

Paranoia thus is born and all that you worked hard for
seems to just dissipate, and you can't cope with your spouse.
Media *** scandals reinforce distrust to loved ones,
the heart is no longer a home, but just another empty house.

This is how the younger generation lives,
constant fear what could happen and they close all doors,
you're either hurting or will be hurt,
so you steel your heart since all you see are ******.

How dreary it feels, knowing you sit alone in a room
where the blinds stow away the reality outside the pane.
There you sit, behind an LCD screen, typing your wildest fallacies.
Then the shadows beckon to close eyes; a dreamful feign.

You resist, desperate to form a connection to someone,
but met with, "You have reached the voicemail box of.."
No texts. No callbacks. Facebook ending with just "seen".
All alone, retreating to the innermost melancholic thoughts above.

Hours turn into days and days turn to weeks.
You plot your escape route with no strings attached.
You're scared, but hold steady with an iron facade,
wistful, that a final solution has thus been hatched.

In those final minutes, when the white candies hit,
and there's no turning back to being alive and sober,
you shudder and slowly close the bloodied eyes,
knowing that the last battle, is finally over.

I lay in a bed that is too warm,
while the inner wind is too cold
and the sounds of rain, echo through my ears.
I lay here, adding up my worst fears.

I have stress gnawing on my fibers
and a cancerous depression leaking through my body.
I bury my face into the firm pillow,
serenaded by sorrow's solemn fiddle.

I'm unsure what to do: to scream or to cry.
I'm running on fumes, too empty to decide.
I think often, but I find no release.
The silence, apart from the rain, is closest to peace.

What hath thy wrought?
I cannot understand what or how to feel.
I'll toss and I'll turn in utter frustration,
knowing that I lack the answers to my deep contemplation.

You may question if you be so bold,
but the answers I've given have already been told.
So, now I lay, in my uncertain blight,
hoping for another chance towards that beacon of light.