You listen
As I speak
Of death,
Darkness,
And aggression.
And you question
My mental stability.
Assuming something’s wrong
With me.
And you rule out
Any possibility
That I may be onto something
When I say
Such things aloud.
I’m just saying
What you already know.
And although you won’t talk about it,
You’ll still whisper
In the shadows.
You’re scared.
Ashamed.
Shocked
When I write
In such dark shades.
But what I write
Is real,
Raw
Emotion.
All you see
Is negative commotion.
Unnecessary words.
Written lies.
And even though
I’ve wrote it many times,
You’re still surprised
If someone in your life
Commits suicide.
Or someone you love
Shoots up to get high.
Because honestly,
The truth of my words
Have you terrified.
So I hope
You’re more aware
That this happens
Everywhere.
And when you turn
Your head away,
You show how much you care.
So I could write
In fairy tales,
Happiness or smiles.
Take your pick.
Just remember
It’s not the healthy
Who need a doctor,
But the sick.