I thought I'd finally clawed my way out
of the darkest reaches of my mind.
But as the cold suffocates me again,
I touch what I left behind.
My soul breaks and pours away,
it leaks from my fingers for everyone to see.
It escapes through my eyes, my hair, my chest;
and still, we all ignore how it bleeds.
How can I ask for help when I've been here before?
They've all seen me fall, watched when I cried.
How do I ask for someone to pull me out,
when it isn't even their fight?
I'm told to just keep going,
but I just don't know how to survive.
My heart burns away into a black hole,
Why even try if I've already died?
Where was the world when I needed it?
The help is long overdue.
If death is what they mean by it'll eventually be okay,
I guess what they say is true.