Laying on the floor
reaching for the door
you are too sore
strength can’t
ever seem to be restored.
You scream
you cry
you roar
That you can’t take anymore
One, Two, Three, Four
One, Two, Three, Four
mind is always at a constant war.
You say you are better off dead
But once it all turns black
after one too many prozacs
the moment you realized you succeeded and can’t take it back
*
Falling down a hole with no cracks
*
It’s dark
Not even your soul anymore has a spark
Day or night?
Nothings in site
Feel nothing at all
for once you are light
Yet something doesn’t feel quite right.
All alone: This isn’t how it was supposed to go
Your spirit was supposed to run free with the other ghosts
One, Two, Three, Four
One, Two, Three, Four
mind is always at a constant war.
-DF
