There is the one story that I wish tell.
Even now in my mind, it gives me hell.
The thing in the night.
That wakes me up with such a fright.
I just wish talking about it were easy.
It’s not though. Makes my stomach queasy.
Makes me think the whole time I was the bad guy.
Got me doubting my beliefs and asking God why?
I though that I could be better than this.
Like walking across ice and trying not to slip.
Trying not stumble and trip.
Trying to keep it contain so that I don’t flip.
It’s been a couple of years since I’ve dealt with this shit.
It messes with my head.
Make me believe I shouldn’t exist instead,
Yes I know the poem is depressing.
It’s overwhelming.
That’s how I’m feeling right now
Don’t know how .
Even though I’m writing this on a bus.
On my way to work saying to myself, Good luck.
Right now I wish I didn’t give a fuck.
That’s not me at all.
I care too much even as I fall.
Falling down on my knees to the ground.
Crying slowly as I don’t make a sound.
As my heart slowly pounds.
I wonder is it enough to have me around ?
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