I can't break out
Of these chains that bind my brokenness
In a straightjacket, I stand
Just waiting for a prognosis.
I cling to anything, everything
I possibly can
As the pieces of my once perfect life
Fall down around me.
Who am I to believe
That I am good enough?
Who am I to believe
That I will make it out of here alive?
So I sit, and I wait, and wait
Staring at the blank wall
I think I am going crazy
But really
I am simply trapped and unmoved
By the holding cell of mental illness.