Who said it'll be okay?
Im not okay.
The voice took over.
Its just me, Its not anxiety.
Everyone lies.
I look like a buffoon.
Im fat, ugly, and stupid.
The words keep repeating in my head not letting me even breathe.
What do I have to do to be free?
Use a knife or a rope or some pills?
The only way to be truly free...
Is the escape of life on your own free hand.
This poem is about:
Me