Its you,it is

Its you.
Its a voice in your head,
An image in the reflective mirror that doesnt want to be seen.

A persona which in fact-
Is the itch you can't scratch-
The scab you can't pick.
Always there as another fragment as your one self or your other self.

It is hatred.
Anger.
Love.
It is the wall that blocks you from society yet the pathway to freedom meandering near deaths door.
Which will soon become a topless wall as it is the end and the end of this story is 6ft deep- it is spirited away.

Its always there next you-behind you-in front of
you.
A dark shadow of yourself or your the shadow of itself
In painful times it escapes;
It clutches to the pain and the agonising depths of what was once an innocent heart.

It is incurable.

its hidden yet so vivid in the flashbacks and thoughts in your head.
Its suppressed by sweet lies and deceitful smiles.
A fake face to face "them" faces-
A fight for a fight you shall never win only delay.
A battle with your self.

But,what are you? Who am i?
The question many encounter,
The purpose in life is what?
One may say marriage or work.
Yet the only thing certain about this epiphany of life is death.
The end in which many are scared of...

A bully that never seises to exist
A scornful bride
A vengeful spirit
It is shoved in the Backs of our conditioned minds!

Every second counts towards this tragic end.
Everybody says to "have fun."
But what is fun when fun isn't fun when you dont want to have fun...

Make the most of our time?
My bed is a castle!
A garden of eden for my ridden soul.
A haven for my wicked thoughts.
It keeps me tucked away in its clasps and even after escaping it entices me.
An addiction that won't kill me but i hope will
It is....
The bountyfulls of white,angelic beads in shiny-packets, the glasses of water we choke on.

The wards and councelling rooms,
The obnoxious bystanders and judgers,
The feeling of beind held and choked.
The suffocating grasp around your neck.

The only step is into a track.A river.A road.
A step into the other side-
A step,to what feels like relief.

That brief moment of spreading your wings as you fall yet only you can see them-only for a short while-
the innocence rejouvinated after so many years yet gone in seconds.

The blood.The sweat.The tears
The fears that swell as 'she' grows
The need for help yet there is no way of help...

The suicide rates rise like the rise in my need for escape,
The need for who ever 'she' is to escape,
She says "it's you" but im "me" and you're "you"
It is...