My pain is not a poem,
my poetry isn't poetic.
It's cryptic and a message,
cutting up and breaking
my poems are suicidal, files of
medications and prescriptions
are seemingly all my mind
can write. Jumping to conclusions
and indenting my addictions,
inflicting this confliction, convictions
I don't mention. Those rhymes that
I have wrote; it was the drowning as I broke,
a broken draft of notes, that sing:
"you'll never learn to float,"
Acid, or is it water?
I'm hoping for the latter,
well I guess it never mattered,
years doubled and I'm sadder.
When does it get better?
When do I get better?
I guess it never will, and I'm
home but I'm not here,
I'm stuck, I'm stuck, I'm stuck,
and all my heart
can pump is tears-
All feedback is appreciated and welcome!