It’s the fifteenth of March, twenty-twenty-six
And I’m already someone who is broken without any fix
I promised to be a better version
Well, down in the drain goes my insightful vision.
God forbid I’m overwhelmed
The ones I live with just yelled.
They haven’t even dared to delve
into my heart’s swell.
I lie down on my mattress, flat
feeling like a buffoon, a daft
Yes, I’m breathing, all fine
Not sure if I’m living, is this a sign?
A sign to let go of everything, perhaps
Or maybe a notion for a relapse?
Neither of the possibilities is better than the other
All I can do is thrive, though I'm seconds away from pulling the trigger
a trigger, to extinguish the friendly fire inside, my soul would wither.
I’m on the verge of giving up
But I won't, not now, not tomorrow, not next week
I’m going to survive, with or without a support club
because after all, success is the one thing I seek
And I'm not giving up.
-maddie
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Author:
Maddie (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: May 16th, 2026 00:42
- Comment from author about the poem: This poem truly means a lot to me. It doesn't really belong to the sad category, but in a way, it is sorrowful, and the last stanza is kind of hopeful? I wrote this in the midst of March, hence the title "Ides of March" (Julius Caesar reference), and I was really depressed that day because everything went wrong that day. Hope you guys like it!
- Category: Sad
- Views: 12
- Users favorite of this poem: madeline, Friendship
Offline)
Comments2
A poem of pulling oneself up by one's own bootstraps so to speak. Well done
Thank you so much! I appreciate it 🙂
You are most welcome
lovely write
thank you soo much! i appreciate it 🙂
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