So many things to live for,
But so many reasons to die,
How is it that I can be happy,
While still managing to cry?
One year, five years, ten...
Too many years to count.
All my life, I've denied
The truth about the amount
Of pain in my chest and throat,
No matter how much I smile,
The overall picture decays,
Euphoria lasting a short while.
I had never really confessed
Up until now, for I've lied
For more than a decade about
Crossing to the other side.
I've lied to myself, not friends,
And I've never expressed it,
These feelings of melancholy
That leave me in a dark pit.
Selfishness and selflessness,
Who here can be blamed?
Is it them, or is it me?
Which argument is to be shamed?
A child should never wish to die,
For too young is the soul,
But my innocence was little,
Nay, may've never existed at all.
I cannot tell you exactly when
My heart had started to break,
For I myself do not know when
My whole world began to quake.
"She is bubbly," they said,
"She is so kind and energetic."
It is true, that's who I am,
But overall,my mind is sick.
A teenager who wishes to die
Is seen as a cry for attention.
Maybe it is, maybe it isn't,
It's easy to avoid detection.
And what if that juvenile is
Not just seeking our eyes?
In a matter of time, it could
Lead them to their own demise.
A young adult should not wish
Death upon him or her self,
Still so young, the thoughts plague
The mind, even in good health.
I am tied to this world
By promises I'll forever keep,
Though they turn away their eyes
When I just sit there and weep.
If they cared about the wild bird
Locked in the iron cage,
They'd set the poor creature free,
To live to their destined age.
"Twenty three is still too young,"
They relay sadly to me,
"You've still got a long time
Before you're to be set free."
So I'm here, tied to Earth
By a promise too strong to break,
And no matter how much happiness
I have, my sorrow I cannot fake.
A person should not want to die
For most of their own life.
There's something wrong with my head
If I'm feeling this much strife.
There are people out there who can
Relate, though fear to speak their mind.
We all feel like different species who
Just want to live with their own kind.
I know I'm sick to feel this way,
But I suppose I'm never leaving.
So I sit in my computer chair,
Oh so silently grieving.
I can no longer keep the secret
Of which I've tried to deny,
That for more than eleven years,
I've wanted nothing more than to die.