Nick Trim | + Follow Poet |
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Restriction

Have you ever lost yourself in a mist,
that surrounds so close you can't see your fist,
when everywhere you look there's fog to be found,
a reality where gravity weighs you down.

When every single breath you breathe feeds and grows a hate,
forming from feeling too heavy to move co-ordinates.
Like a dream trying to move but staying stationary,
going from two feet to all fours draining energy.

Depression's a mental block that locks you in,
then anxiety appears and both start mocking.
Teaming up to kill your motivation and desire,
which is replaced by intimidation and barbwire.

Harming 'til you're a hermit forever hurting,
starving passion to the limit emotion murdering,
and all that you have is anger seeping hot air,
rising to remove fog above, not elsewhere.

And all you want to do is fly and bird it,
combine these imposters into one and burn it,
incinerate this pair with the fumes of a dragon,
'cus you're sick to death of this hell as it drags on.

You want to show all the world that you're strong,
but attempts to change things always go wrong,
leaving suicide looking like it's the way out,
but like all other ideas the thought's a doubt.

So instead you sit and hope for a sun rise,
while penning these rhymes out 'cus it seems wise,
when for just a few minutes it stops cries inside,
and for just a few minutes the pain is denied.

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