You ask me if I’m okay;
all these
words come up in my head.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
But on the inside, I’m
SCREAMING.
I’m not okay, and I
wish I could say that. I
wish I could tell you that I
still want to die, I
want to slit my wrists,
swallow my pills,
jump from a building or
SOMETHING.
ANYTHING.
Because I’m
not okay.
And I
never will be.