if love is a battlefield,
than my mind must be Chernobyl.
a nuclear war zone,
befitting,
I spent years developing a nuclear war head,
that can find lodging in your head.
it lays resident on the pillow on my bed,
my childhood shed,
while bad memories flow like a water drain up ahead,
and may remain with me until death.
maybe such a stigma on depression exists,
because no one still really knows what it is
hell, my mind can compute equations,
spit out essays,
but mental illness?
to solve mine would be aimless.
it lurks, it attacks, it burns
left like a forest fire to churn.
eats up your insides, you feel your ending coming close,
with no conclusiveness a doctor can diagnose.
only if life came with an easy mode,
maybe i'd be better off dealing with this alone.
this is for all the kids
who made Adam's song their song,
or find reprieve at the bottom of a ****,
and find life a little bit too long.
can you hear the siren?
three, two...
seconds to eruption
one...
boom.
no time to snooze.
i wake and
immediately collapse into
pieces.
scattered,
in the people i will encounter today
until i come home
empty,
no parts of me left to be seen.
until i finally fall in bed,
close my eyes,
count 1, 2, 3,
and do it
all over again.
