Warning: The author has noted that this contains strong violence.
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Feeling forgotten, lost, confused, or useless is why death seems easier than facing what you can't compare to, or standing up to what's going to defeat you every time. You stand up it knocks you down, you stay down it still hovers to make sure you don't get up again. It humiliates you to the point that the hallucinations in your head make you believe you're literally in hell. You sit talking to whatever or whoever wants to listen then realize that nobody wants to, or really cares. So you decide to stop talking and nobody notices, so you abandon your family, friends, thoughts, smiles, tears, and voice, and accept the emptiness that made itself. Every day the knife cuts a little deeper on your wrist, but every day you're a little more tempted to go a little deeper.
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Author Notes
I'm not crazy this is just a poem i wrote
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