Here I stand,
In the middle of the road,
Soaked to the bone,
Drenched in the weight of the storm,
Not sure what I’m doing,
But sure I can’t take it anymore.
Maybe, just maybe, a bolt of lightning
Will strike me down,
End this drowning life—
A life that feels like flightless wings,
Born to soar,
But too broken to ever leave the ground.
What’s left in a life
That might be better off without me?
My closest friends are books—
Fictional souls who don’t even know
They’re nothing but words on a page.
The voices in my head
Pull me toward the edge,
Whispering, urging—
Anything to end it here and now.
Can I be saved?
Probably not.
Everyone says to speak,
But when I do,
My words are shoved aside
Like I’m not even there.
Like I was never there.
If I had healing powers,
Maybe I could mend this broken mind,
But people don’t see what’s right in front of them.
They’re too wrapped in their own bubbles,
While I carry a heavy heart,
A heavy mind,
Burning slowly while waiting for an end
That never comes quick enough.
Who would’ve thought?
The girl who longed for death at sixteen
Is still here,
Standing on this rain-filled road at twenty-five,
Still wanting to die,
Last-born in my family,
But the first to wish for the end.
Too self-aware to be saved, they say,
So I’ll just stay here,
In the rain,
And see where this road takes me.