When you comply to pain
You acquiesce to fear
You create pathways of self-pity
And reinforce debilitating tears.
When self-loathing becomes home
And victimization a nurturing place
It creates a false reality
Where hurt is your only pace.
When depressive states get normalized
And they become your daily norm
You find it hard to differentiate
A healthy mind from one constantly torn.
When you romanticize suicide
You masquerade the impact it has
It begins to feel intrinsic to you
Instead of an annihilating mask.
When isolation becomes comfortable
It can feel like a shelter from stress
And never confronting the voices of others
Starts to mute all and any distress.
When pessimism equates practicality
And all lines begin to get blurred
All your measurements of self and normality
Seem like an outcome of a conscious often stirred.
When negativity is your second language
And your self-esteem thrives in callous words
You constantly keep yourself chained
Like a forest with all featherless birds.
When you live your entire life
In an endless loop of anguish and pain
Your self-portrait starts to become an oil painting,
Yet, you forget that you’re the drawing hand.