The bubble in my chest is expanding,

Not with joy, but apprehension.

The desire to escape keeps nagging at my brain,

I see bloody wrists behind my eyelids.

But how does one reason with a mind that is sick?

How do you weave melancholy into happiness?

I would love to know if you’ve a cure for it,

Could i borrow your sanity so i may be free of this?

This bubble in my chest that consumes me.

This parasite in my gut that controls me.

This twisted body that betrays me.

It's supposed to be better by now, im supposed to be okay,

But my feet can't support my need to escape.

Every night I wish to die, and every morning i curse the sun,

To be trapped in this world is bad enough on its own.

But to be trapped in reality? To be trapped in my body, to be trapped in my mind,

To be trapped in existence, to be tethered to life,

In a place where even the winds not free,

And we each live with a bubble in our chest,

That keeps expanding, until it bursts.

You can't help but to fear the day that it does, 

As contradicted as it is by your longing for its release.