No matter how much someone tried to help, they were never the same.
Unable to speak, unable to think, only able to cast a blame.
Because the torment was too much, because the good could not repress the hurt.
The sirens going off in their head, on high alert.
The yelling was too loud, and the help was too quiet.
The stomping too much to handle, like their mind was putting on a riot.
Then when the chaos finally stopped and came to an end,
their mind was so messed up from the effects that they started to descend.
Until there was nothing left but the void that they were trying to fill.
Constantly being reminded of what once was, turning ill.
But the "sickness" was not actually there, it was just their mind.
Nevertheless, making them go blind.
Then there was finally a break, a person to help them out of their state.
For once they were able to be free, able to now think straight.
But then that person failed them too, leaving them with the sorrow as they once had.
Yet after some consideration, they accepted it. They were glad.
Because then the cycle repeated until they had no choice but to quit.
But really that is what they were doing all along, isn't it?
~A.T
YOU ARE READING
Sad Poems
PoetryA collection of poems that may pain you to read, possibly as much as they pained me to write
