I feel butchered--
All cut up inside.
Like a blade has passed through my heart
A thousand times.
I feel like one of those paper snowflakes
You craft around Christmas time.
I feel like there are scattered remnants
Littered at my blood-stained feet.
I let it go a million times,
But I still feel the hurt inside.
Oh God, why do I feel so depressed?!
Why am I such a broken mess?!
My life's not so bad; I'm not too ugly.
Everyone seems to think well of me.
I look in the mirror and want to choke.
The tears won't come; I've dried that moat.
I curl up in a ball and stare at paint-chipped walls,
Hide my face in the darkness beneath the covers,
Maybe my demons will not notice me,
Until I must come up to breathe.
I feel so dead and worn and empty.
I crawl to bed. I do nothing.
I am no one, nowhere, no time.
I am sick of living, but I'm too afraid of dying.
I turn the heater up, but I can't shake the cold.
Coughs wrack my body; I feel so old.
The weakness creeps in till my breathing turns shallow.