THC Meets Poetry

Disorganized

The future is so fucking unclear. I wish I could burn to ashes and disappear. I'm so sick and tired of spending every day in chronic fear.

Why do I have to be at my lowest point to be able to get my shit together? Am I going to be my own greatest enemy forever?

I don't know how to express how I feel. Is any of this even real?

I'm fighting wars that people cannot see. They don't hear the voices trying to take hold of me.

Time is becoming so blurry. I'm trying to get back to the past in a hurry. Downing drink after drink until my words are disorganized and slurry.

I'm telling you my life was a mistake. My parents wanted a son, and instead they got this fucking fake. I still remember being told that I was a burden, and it has made me regret every fucking breath that I take, but according to others, none of that happened. So I guess I must be the snake.

If there is a higher power out there, I pray that you take my wounded spirit and give it a break. It's so fatigued, and has fallen into a deep slumber. It could no longer stay awake. I need somebody to tug at it, and give it a shake. Reassure me that my heart isn't always going to ache.