He died, but no one ever really seems to understand what caused it.
This isn’t who I am, is it?
I never was someone who associated myself with that evil boy Depression, but now am overly saddened by my anxiety. Who killed me? I’m drowning in my internal tears and collapsing in my external fears.
As my thoughts cut through my brain like a seed bursting through the earth’s crust, a new bud has grown within me.
I forgive thee, for thou hast killed thy own self,
strangled by the intake of their problems and the dismissal of his own.
Who am I to blame you?
You never know.
I portray myself to be the Lion of Judah,
when actually I am being crucified by the pain as it pierces my body on the cross of life.
Why can’t they see me as human too?
I have feelings just like you.
Why can’t you ask a simple me, “How are you?”
Why can’t you reciprocate the safe space I give you to express the real you?
I miss him. Do you?
Or do you miss when he used to comfort you?
Well, he died, and it’s a new circle of my life.
