TW: Topics related to suicide and mental illness

***

“You’re fine,” my therapist contiously demands

As her red lips are painted in a smile

But even her best acting can’t cover up

The truth so juvenile

All my doctors plaster on their optimism

Like I am a patient they can save

“Listen to me darling,”

“Im almost certain your okay,”

So why aren’t I able to breath

As easily as I once could?

Why does my brain swarm with violent thoughts

Things I shouldn’t and I should?

Why does it feel like more people are dying than living?

And life doesn’t feel quite as alive?

And why is the sadness once foreign to my heart

Starting to cut me open like a knife?

“Go home,” they always tell me

As if I am fine as they all say

As if I am solely just a problem

To be hidden from display

This time Instead of driving home

I drove up to the cliffs

And I told myself what they all told me

As I let tears go past my lips

I went to the edge

And I flew

And I fell

And I was 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘦