why?
The sun it shines for me
but rain will surely
enter it’s way
for my life is not a picture
in some local magazine
No beautiful mountains to climb
because my pain has washed
them all away
no tall green trees to see this year
because my heart has burned them all down
can’t you see the flames?
Inside, in my mind, to me I
resemble a house made out of glass
my mental illness has taken over
and has began throwing stones
the pieces cut me up as it shatters
The illness, is like lightening or a razor
first it strikes me hard and deep
then cuts my face, my body and my soul
it’s bitter hate I ate
and it’s rotting me away
apart from everything, I simply ask why?
SEG
*I have spent almost my entire life trying to understand mental illness. I figured that once I understood I could then be the puppeteer instead of the puppet. It doesn’t seem to work that way. I wrote this poem in my mid to late twenties. If I got it, I could stop it. Nope.
