It still lingers in me,

How can this sadness be?

The voices telling me what I can and can not be.

Feeling hopeless, every hour.

Like a never blooming flower.

What is the point of life?

The only resort is the sharp edge of a knife.

I will shut up and walk threw the pain.

Just knowing, I will never be sane.

This poem is about: 



depression and dispair is it common or is it rare?

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