Sticks and stones break bones.
The whole world rushes over
To sign your cast - okay..

So if the mind cracks,
But no one cares to listen..
Does it make a sound?

If we go to war
With ourselves regularly,
Who's the terrorist?

I would say being
Mentally sick's more about
Being sane than calm.

Day One - It All Starts.
The sunshine dims, with daylight
Dwindling to dark.

Day Two - It sets in.
Scars and wounds are kept freshly
Scarlet red. It hurts.

Day Three - It Doesn't.
Sadly, it all becomes moot.
Now, it's your routine.

Day Four - Friends Notice.
That's why they stopped trying to
Convince you to live.

Day Five - Mom Worries.
She loses sleep, sort of like
How you have. Scary.

Day Six - You Give In.
Staring at the ceiling is
All you can manage.

Day Seven - You Choose.
You've had enough. **** it all.
You plan it all out.

Waking up at 4
In the morning, trying to
Drown in your own blood.

Taking the doctor's
Pills and shoving them all down
Your throat with no voice.

To secure things, you
Get your childhood blankie
And tighten a knot.

All your tears cascade
Upon the floor. you're thinking,
"What else do I have?"

You sum up your guts,
Step on the stool, and look out
The window. *Goodbye.

Just as you jump off,
You catch yourself. Still in bed.
Profusely sweating.

It was all a dream.
You cry until dry heaving
Saps your energy.

You last one more night;
Amen. Warriors like you
Deserve to fight on.

You are stronger than
Sticks, stones, words, pills, razors, life -
Keep going. **I beg.