Looking up at the tall mountain
The top is beautiful and sunny
But the mountain climbers
They have to face challenges
Some parts are easier, some are harder And maybe on their journey
There will be thunderstorms
Maybe even tumbling tornadoes.
No one can know
What they will face

Reaching the top may seem impossible
Especially with the weights they have to carry
Their weights lay deep in their backpacks
Where no one can see.
No one knows what another may be carrying.
Their weight may be less, or more,
or even heavier
than all of the climbers combined.
No one can know
What others might carry.

The mountain climbers start,
Everyone at their own pace.
Some build friendships,
They talk and help each other
with their weights
It seems to make
Every step they take
Easier and easier at first.
No one can know
If they will add the weight of betrayal to your back.

For some the weight is too much,
So they get hurt
Or stumble back down
To the ground
To the very start
Maybe they will give up
Completely, forever
Out of frustration.
A permanent solution
To a temporary problem.
No one can know
If their journey ends deadly.

Not many reach the top,
Even when it’s pure bliss,
It seems unreachable for many.
The climbers being left behind
They will never get to experience
The moments of peace, happiness, joy
The climbers forget
All their pain, regret,
It all disappears.
When they reach the top
They forget
What it felt like before
Not many get to know
What it feels like to be at the top of the mountain

I don’t know when I stopped feeling like myself
It hit me out of nowhere
Like a storm on a sunny day
I don’t know what caused it
But Suddenly, I couldn’t feel what I used to

Things I liked doing before
They didn’t make me happy
It was disappointing
Giving up the things I loved
But there was no other choice
What’s the point of doing something you 'love'
When you stopped loving it?

Every task, big or small
It felt like a chore
Pure emptiness inside me
No matter what I do
Even when I laughed sometimes
I was just playing pretend
My life felt like I was an actor on a stage
None of my emotions were what I truly felt

It began as the smallest whisper
But now is the loudest scream
inside my head
It’s taking over my life
Until I can’t take it anymore
And I‘m dead

Counting the lines that trace my skin
Some red, some white,
Some deep, some light.
Each one a whisper:
I survived another night.

Sometimes,
I think they’re beautiful,
Other times,
I look at myself in disgust.
Maybe I should’ve never touched the blade.
Maybe I should’ve never learned
how quiet pain can be.  

The first one was nothing,
Just a scratch
“One small line won’t hurt,”
I said to myself
not knowing months later,
I still don't know what else will help