Mind
My mind is a wasteland, a place only poison and death thrive.
My mind is a wasteland, where not even hope is alive.
I’m not safe from my thoughts, these venomous snakes that haunt my memories.
My skin crawls from pollution, from anxiety and doubt.
All I want is to get out.
Get out of my head, my crawling skin, the burning feelings of depression.
Its a wasteland, there’s ashes instead of sand.
Its a wasteland, the water burns and the fire cools.
At least it feels like it does. Maybe it doesn’t, maybe I’m a fool.
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