Tap tap tap my fingers find something to stop the shaking in my hands

Crowded spaces make it hard for me to breathe

Ready for an attack that never comes, heart racing, gazing over my shoulder

Post traumatic stress still lives in this body despite the eviction notices I keep leaving at its doorstep

No one asks about the stories written throughout my body anymore

The wheeze interlaced with a laugh because where I’m from they’d rather have 14 year olds smoking under the bleachers rather than open up the discussion about mental illness and addiction

Turning a blind eye to the plague silently killing off my friends, my generation

Fading scars from a day gone by

The bleeding takes your mind off the yearning to die for but a little while

My parents think I’m alone too much

Worrying about an impending attack all the time is tiring

It’s impossible to tell them I’ve been trying to rid myself of the pain developed by a lack of chemicals in my brain

By inviting new toxins in

No one wants to talk about mental illness and addiction still

It’s been 6 years


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