If good thoughts are like clouds,

Then what about the bad—

The ones that slip into your mind

When you least expect it?

 

Is it thick black ink

That permeates your brain?

A slime that festers 

And grows larger as you feed it?

 

'What if I weren't around anymore?'

'Who would miss me if I disappeared?'

'If I suddenly died, they'd be sorry?'

Oh, wouldn't they be sorry.'

 

That ink is everywhere now,

Drowing my brain in the darkness.

I want to cling on but I slip

Farther and farther away.

 

The light is fading from view.

That shining, shimmering water

Bubbles and evaporates.

I need to make a phone call.

 

I can feel it in my shoes

Squishing and squelshing as I run

I want to escape it

But it's catching up to me

 

I need one last good thought,

Or one last kind word

To keep me from sinking forever

And drowing in this void

 

Black is filling up my mouth

Spilling out in a powerful wave

Everyone I've spoken to is here

Coming to get me.

 

Where's the phone?

I need to make a call.