It's a bit depressing, I'd say. Like most.. haha....

 

An Actual Life

I imagine an actual life,

A different life.

Why does it feel,

Like my life is not real?

I imagine a girl,

Happy, sad, all.

Depression and hardship,

Moments of joy.

A real life,

A real home.

A family—loving or not.

A home—loved or suffocating.

Not “normal,” with no emptiness attached.

She makes me miss what I can only dream of.

She makes me yearn for a miserable life,

One where my pain is real,

Where I have a source, not a concerning desire.

I want an actual life,

Not this—not even “normal” itself.

I want to feel like I can feel,

Feel without doubt, feel truly.

I want to live in hell, so my qualms are real, valid.

I don’t want to feel stuck—not well, yet no right to complain.

I don’t want to be unfeeling,

No longer.

I don’t want to keep isolating,

Too late.

I want to escape the static,

My prison.

I want to live,

Why is it so hard?

I want to talk,

Yet instead I remain silent.

I want to smile,

Without wondering when it will end.

I want to think,

But not like this,

Not stealing me from the moment,

From reality.

I want to live in the moment,

Not in a cell in my mind.

I want to live,

Without it being a struggle—

A conscious effort—

A thought, task, chore.

I want to want to live,

Not be neutral.

I want to not struggle,

Just to fake joy.

I want to live,

Not barely exist.

 

THE URGE TO DIE

I hate myself,

I hate my thoughts,

I hate my doubts,

I hate my mind,

My wicked, cruel mind.

My words can’t be mine,

Thoughts not allowed.

 

To Exist

To simply be—unbearable pain.

No help, no reason.

No mind, no comfort.

Can’t stand it, too much.

 

iNSaNiTY

In-sa-ni-ty.

What am I, anymore?

I can’t even think,

Through the thoughts blocking,

Wading through the deepening mud in my brain,

Fog already choking me,

Things tugging my ankles from below,

Sirens beckoning me toward peaceful death.

 

- Lily