This is a poem I wrote. Another vent poem. Haha... I really am selfish, aren't I? I have two friends dealing with anxiety and three with depression, two of which I just mentioned have both, and I'm complaining about my family saying the truth and wanting to do horrible things to myself. I know I'm horrible. Just a selfish, greedy, self in titled, horrible person. Don't tell me I'm not. Even my family knows I am. They're the ones who let me know about it, after all.
Just for the record and to answer anyone who may ask this, no. I do not have any mental disorders. From what I know, I am mentally healthy.
Voices in My Head
They've told me before.
They'll tell me soon, too.
They say what I am.
I know its true.
I try and fall, time and time again.
I try to go without the costume of false happiness,
But everytime I do,
Everything falls apart.
Is this what life is made of?
Is life all suffering and pain?
Or is that my selfishness taking over again?
Or is life feeling like a wreck,
Feeling responsible for everyone else's pain,
Feeling like you can't do anything but sit and watch as the
Blood pours down my face.
It comes from my mind.
Is it normal?
Even if they can't harm me,
It hurts in my mind to hear them chant.
"Greed, greed greed," they spit,
Their slimy voices screech,
Combining with my crying mind
Into a choir of wicked demons,
Chanting, chanting, chanting.
"Selfish, horrid, disgusting, cruel, self intitled, evil, wicked-"
STOP! I scream, only in my head.
I've heard these words before.
From family, from friends, from enemies alike.
They're one in the same to me.
"Gross, grubby, dirty, mean, rude, forgetful, stupid, uncharismatic, loser..."
I've heard it all.
I've heard the weak ones,
That I forget after a week,
And the heavy ones,
The ones that follow me.
And the ones that follow me,
Follow me for good.
I'm the only one who can hear the war in my head,
The only one who can see the blood.
It leaks in my eyes and spills into my mouth.
I can feel it drench my cloths.
It stains my skin.
It colors floors and walls,
Staining the room in dread.
I'm nearly out.
I've run out of patience to let everything around me fall down.
Everything I've worked so hard to build up from the ground.
So tell me now.
Why is it me the voices attack?
Or are there ther victims too?
Somewhere, maybe there are.
Victms of the voices,
Telling you all the things wrong with you.
But they don't need to say it out loud,
In case you still wanted to know what I said in the other studio, here.