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Poem

I hate the feeling
Of thinking I’m here 
But I’m not
Of think somebody’s here 
When they aren’t 
Of having my life blocked in by a snowy window
The crisp February air whistling by
This sound this feeling
Makes me want to die
But she following me 
Haunting me
She stalking me
I don’t have energy to try
I don’t have energy to run
I was tripping on this Prozac 
Taking away my busted fate
Does every depressed person take these
I sit and think
My first cut wasn’t as deep as the rest
A small little welt across my chest
But it was intoxicating
Like an addict drawn to a pill
I was drawn to harm
The razor blade took a score
The blood was dripping down my shoulder 
But I needed more
The looney bin is where i wen t 
Full of a  ton of scarred up skin
Some who drank 
Some who took to many pills
Some who got high for the thrills 
We all ed up but in the end 
We are ed By the fate of this 
Cruel
Deathly world

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