FROZEN IN FLAMES

Do it! Just pick up the glass and take the pills.
Failure! You cannot even succeed in death.
See the stress? Of everyone anticipating your inevitable death?
Do it already! Take the blade and slit them. It will only hurt for a little bit.
Do you not want this misery to end? Just do it.

My mind is my greatest enemy, constantly throwing shade.
My body tries, but it fails, under the pressure of this whole façade.
Endless mental freezes, I am the dysfunctional game that people like at the arcade.
Being around people hurts my being, my deranged mind, my master in solitude.
I want this nightmare to end, but I don’t know how to do it.

I am a shell of what life should be, always doubting, always tense.
Humanoid Casper the friendly ghost, present but deathly intense.
Friendly gestures sting, like a disrupted vicious hornet, such a big mess.
My mind is a constant critique of everything I do, a roadblock to everything I set it to do.
Built for greatness but cursed to be my own undoing, I guess.
Calm is like sand seeping through my fingers, never to return the agony is endless.

The wind brings reminders to me all the failed attempts at getting help.
The rain washes away the little shred of borrowed hope.
As the sun illuminates every insecurity, so vast is the scope.
My house is both my safe haven and my prison.
I think, write and analyze, still I cannot find for my struggle a reason.
Smallest in the room, and even smaller in my head, oh! send help.

I, the clock in a dark house, they know I am here, but I am never seen.
Always compared, within and without, never judged by my merit.
Like a ghost, I learn to exist as a human, maybe faking it is how I win.
Joy that I paint on my face every morning, like a clown’s smile.
To seal in the pain, muffled screams, and my mouth that tastes like bile.
My skin leaks hatred for everything I held dear once I can’t bear it.

Frozen in time, I see people speak but can’t hear their words.
Dislike my own company, but quite lonely in the crowd.
Calling out for help, but scared that the Grim Reaper will pick up.
Cryptic sights ravage my mind, of me finally at rest in a pool of blood.
A convincing voice says to me, Just do it! Softly, not out loud.
In a maze of my own hate and doubt, maybe I should just give up.

I envy the dead, fantasize about how happy I will be to rest at last.
My morning breath a disappointment, onset of the daily anhedonia.
The sound of my name is like the anchor to my feet pulling me beneath.
Painful memories and stress, the ocean I am constantly drowning in.
Loved ones look like prisoners of the war in my head, their pain I can feel within.
Maybe when I take my last breath, the world will breathe its first.

I fall asleep to the view of a world after I am gone.
Calm, happy, and forgetting that I am gone.
Me, in the earth down deep, still alone but a quiet mind at least.
Existing as a memory to those who cared, and living in the stories of many.
An honest smile forms on my face, before the morning sun hits my face.
And the loop begins, my master again to face, all the flames to again embrace.