A poem about the romanticizing of mental illnesses

When the silver makes it red
Which later turns to white
Paintings and writings on skin
Instead of a canvas
Make it a clear message
And not a piece of art

A rope is not a chain
Laid as jewelry around a neck
But a permanent idea
To a temporarily situation

The restricting voice in a head
Would by some be described as a best friend
A soulmate, a “she knows best”
However, that voice is not telling the truth

Shaking hands and panic attacks
Are not cute yet they are real
And black clouds are not even close
To aesthetics or what heaven even looks like

It’s not always the straight lines on an upper arm
Nor the blade, the bridge, the letter
A gun cannot shoot away the darkness in the lighten crowd
Or the trembling hands taking the pills
With a mind that loses itself

Mental illnesses have multiple faces
So, don’t get stuck with the idea
Of only one of them
Before it’s too late to save someone’s life
By changing your own perspective