I try to keep up,
but then I fall.
Soon, I sink
into the wheelchair.
White lights glare—
cold, grimy,
asylum prison.

Fallen.
Broken.
Soul stolen.
Poison in my veins.

"All I want is"—

I stare for hours
down endless,
narrow halls,
full of lost souls—
the ones who let go,
ended up hospitalized—
suicide on their minds.

I feel paralyzed—
left traumatized,
trapped inside,
confined,
searching the
room for you,
someone to talk too.
I can still feel you,
but you’re not here.
You’re not there.
You’re nowhere.

A bandage covers
my right arm,
hiding the cuts,
hiding the pain,
but drowning deep.
I don’t know who to trust,
“All I want is love”—
but my hands are tied.

I hate feeling desperate,
I don’t feel protected,
you told me you
would protect me,
I don’t feel respected,
I feel rejected,
I hate rejection,
I feel defensive,
I feel vulnerable,
I feel exposed,
all alone—

WHY CAN’T YOU
LET ME GO?!