Do you ever just try to remember when things got so bad,
Like when death seemed easier than life,
Or when you started feeling,
As though your pure existence isn't worth the space it's taking up,
Maybe the doctors should've never released me into the outside world,
Instead stamped my birth certificate - denied.
It seems as though,
My depression keeps shouting louder and louder,
I don't want people to hear so I block out the noise of my cries by sitting under the running water of the shower.
For so long I believed,
I had no purpose on this earth and life wasn't meant for me,
That's the way the devil works,
He plays his music as I sit there front row center as if it's a symphony.
As I slowly become consumed by this bottomless pit,
I play the same phrase over and over in my head like a skipping record - just pull that trigger and commit,
Can I just have a person to hold me until the devil subsides and tell it to beat it,
Then listen to the devils cries.
But I can't help to feel as though I am that unwanted baggage,
That everyone carries,
You may as well leave me at the platform,
Say your goodbyes, Pick up your bags, then step in the carriage.
YOU ARE READING
The devils game
PoetryI wrote this on my roof at 2 am. If you can relate to these lyrics I'm sorry. You aren't alone<3
