Stuck in these feelings
stuck in my head.
It's too late for treatment,
I'm already dead.
I've never been locked up
but they won't undo my jacket.
Whenever I speak up
I'm told to quit making all this racket.
It's like I'm stuck in a hole.
All around me is dark
but above me, there's light.
Above me there's the goal.
I can't feel my toes,
They've gone numb from the cold.
They're numb too.
It's sad that this is what my soul has gotten used to.
People often ask why sufferers don't speak about their suffering
But when my hollow voice tries to cry,
I am shut down like a video game.
Often told to get down on my knees
And beg for help-
Beg forgiveness for allowing the "enemy" into my mind.
I am my own worst enemy.
It's hard to find a voice
When I'm supposed to pray for my voice
To be removed.
I'm screaming at the top of my lungs
But all you see is my finger twitch.
All you choose to see are my shrugging shoulders
And distant eyes
You don't see all of the pain
And all of the lies.
All of the cries that lie
Beneath the smile
Or when I say "I'm fine"
I've tried God
I've tried drugs
I've tried alcohol
I've tried your awkward attempt at a sideways hug.
I'm often told that what I feel is my choice.
But I feel what I feel
Why would I choose to lose my voice?
Need to talk?
If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741