What if I kept it all bottled up,
Like it didn’t hurt?
And what if I chose not to write,
As if it didn’t linger in my mind?

If it wasn’t a pen I held,
Would I have grasped a blade instead?
Or would a piece of poem like this
Take the place of a suicide note?

What if I'm crazy too
What if I'm like him
And because of that
I don't realize I am

I mean
I know the tendency is genetic
And when you're sick
You don't even know it

He is a part of me
Either way
I had no choice
I was born that way

When I look in the mirror I see his eyes
And his nose
And his hair
I glare at them
A reminder that I'm stuck with him
no matter what I do he'll always be there

It makes me hate myself
When look and I see him in me

I don't want to look like him
I never want to make anyone feel the way he did to me
I don't want to be crazy and see the world blurry
I won't even know it if I am
Which is scary
Please don't also let me be crazy