When did we stop wanting to become a firefighter
When did we stop wanting to become a police man
When did we stop wanting to be someone great

When did we stop dreaming
When did we stop fighting
When did we start settling with the easy option
When did we stop ...
When did we stop ...
When did we stop living

Head full, racing thoughts, faster than light.
Too loud, too full, too much.
Then drifting away—far gone. No thoughts, just silence.
Nothing...
Nothing...
Nothing...

Snap back. Waves crash on—everything at once.
The cycle continues, again and again and again...
Over and over and over...
No end in sight.

I want to get better
I need to get better
I will get better
I will get help
I will do anything
I just want to be happy.
~
I have help
I am working on myself
I am making progress
I am happier
I am getting better.
~
****, I am getting worse again.
I made progress... but now I am back to ****.
This is all useless.
Why? I thought I was getting better...
I hate it!
~
It's slowly getting better again.
I just need patience.
It's hard, but it's working.
It's like a dance...
Two steps forward, one step back, two steps forward, one step back... and so on...
The eternal dance of healing.

He doesn't burn photographs
He doesn't join therapy sessions
He doesn't smoke too many cigarettes
Nor he drown himself into alcohol
He scratches his wounds daily
And never let them heal
He doesn't try to get rid of the pain
Instead he let it grow on him
He waters the seed of sorrow with his tears
He feeds it with the manure of old memories
He takes it to sleep with him
And nurtures it in himself
Till the moment when every single drop of his blood gets replaced by this pain
Until his fragile heart can bear no more
And his soul starts overflowing with emotions
That's when he dip his pen into this pain
And empty his heart on a piece of paper
He bares his soul for us to feel
He creates poetry that the world would cherish for centuries to come