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.