I hear voices in my head

I believe fairies dwell in flower beds

The night is a mystery and not my friend

For I see things at every corner and end

I cry for four days a week

Because of blame and sorrow my heart can’t keep

My dreams, like everyone else, have gone

Because they too are tired to go on

I don’t believe I belong

Life has been singing that to me like a song

I am a poet, but to everyone my poems appear

To be of sadness, yearn, insecurity, and fear

There’s a new voice in my head

That says I’d rather be better off as dead

But since I’m still present

And death may seem quite pleasant

You being able to breathe and believe

That things will get better

Is worth more than laying stone cold forever

And letting people grieve.