Everyday
When I wake up
My head starts to scream
Commanding things
Like a drill sergeant
Telling me what to do
Over and
Over again
Count to 15
You shouldn't think that
You're going to die
Do it now
I wash my hands
For the seventh time
Scrubbing until they are raw
They are spotless
But they feel dirty
Not because they
Have germs on them
But because there
Is dirt in my soul
I wish I could wash it out
All the guilt is building
I feel as if I
Will never be good enough
That I will always be dirty
And guilty
Of crimes I never committed
I know that I am crazy
But I can't stop
YOU ARE READING
Ashes of My Mind
PoetrySome poems I wrote to have an outlet for expression. Basically just things I wish I could say.
