Posted for Missy.
Every word you speak
is like a dealt blow
that throws me into the emptiness of confusion.
You speak of your hatred
for me,
the more I try to love and honour you
for God’s sake.
Good times don’t last for long
not even a second
till depression invades.
if you tell me,
that I am insane,
I won’t disagree;
and I tell myself,
that I am mentally deranged or derailed,
I won’t fight myself.
Well, why shouldn’t I be?
Am I not?
Why do I still live,
breath, why?
Why not death?
Why not heaven?
My pillow’s wet
with so much tear drops.
Do you hear me,
or see me, feel me?
I know you do.
– Missy –
