Before freaking out or being disturbed by the context of this poem, I'd like to give some back story. I was rummaging through  my room and came across this poem. The date at the top of the paper seemed significantly familiar. I then realized that this poem was written the day before I was admitted into mental health care. It's hard to recall or even to comprehend what may have been going through my mind at the time. It's clear, however, that I was in a completely unhealthy state of mind and was a threat to myself and possibly  (without the intense care I received) to others. I am no where near 100% these days, and I'm not sure I ever will be. But I am also no where near the state of mind I was at the time this poem was written. I'm not suicidal and am considered mentally  stable. I'm so thankful for the help I received despite how painful it was. Thank you Dr. Walker, Dr. Weisman, and the legacy of Patch Adams.