The Worst To Come

January 1, 2018

I look in the mirror to discover someone else.
I soliloquize my identity an outcast to the universe.
When all I desire is to once again be myself.
And to terminate my everlasting curse.
You can’t see through me.
You can’t understand what I’m feeling.
I doubt the solution is therapeutic help.
I’ve already endangered my health.
Lost in my head; the optimism is numb.
Paranoid of my future; it’s worst is to come.

Does it matter when I say
it is not just a phase.
The twinkling stars in the jet-black night
make me feel safe; I can’t stand the daylight
because my thoughts constantly haunt my mind
Puts my heart in a cast.
I let the demons take over inside.
My reminiscence sustains to stay in the past.
I keep out of sight; all I can do is run
because I can’t prepare for the worst to come.

Attention, support, affection is what’s missing;
not the ignorance and judging of me.
The pain is always present when I speak .
There is no one else just me,
myself and I to bystand the negativity.
So, I reflect on Chester Bennington’s suicide
and how Linkin Park’s music had a sense of hope.
Taking my own life can’t be the answer to cope
with my mental disorder; my happiness awaits me while I’m alive.
The people who care about me can’t take my pain and horror.
Life is short, my time is not done.
And the worst to come has just begun.

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