inside the toy box lies a broken thing

the demon has a hold on me, its been 20 years

its’ icy fingers grab my throat, the grip tightens every year.

it reroutes my functionality, making me mute when i have so much to say

it tells me to distrust those who only try to befriend me

essentially turning me into a coward whose only instinct is to flee

“escape from your family who loves you, escape from those who try, suffer in silence until the day you die, it tells me”

I defend my actions by saying they never really cared but the truth is i never gave them a chance to

Really that’s the major source of my fears, to be judged harshly from that of my peers

so i continue to run, continue to hide, in my fleet i only wish to save them from the burdens of my psychological scythe

all the while they misunderstand and mistake my absences for uninterest in the happenings of their life

“a slow painful death, because you cannot end it on your own, to cease to live is to cease to feel these paranoid delusions become real, it convinces me”

In my attempt to be brave, i hide my sorrow with a smile

i become a doll, a play thing, an empty shell painted with a pleasing face.

if the face frowns they will ask why but you cant begin to explain, you want to but its much too impossible to try.

so smile instead, pretend you’re out of the red and hope that they are not the wiser

But deep down thats all youve ever wanted, a rescuer to pull you out of the mud

All your life you’ve tried to be your own hero.

all the while there was a constant temptation, a way out of the pain

to seek aid from the people in white coats

tell them of my ills fore i know they’d be more than willing to prescribe me a pill.

but that very pill i fear will be the death of my will.

i’ll turn into a pill junkie, a zombie, losing all the freedom this crazy mind creates.

but is the freedom worth it? has it been worth it all these years?

some days living in extreme bliss, others in fear

Tonight is one of those nights I want nothing more than to surrender.

and 365 magical pills a year would be more pleasant than a single bullet to the skull.

i force myself to sleep and when i wake up, the pain has subsided considerably; i dont feel so much like a loser; i dont really want to die

but this confidence is temporay

its only a matter of time before the sorrow is retriggered

is there an end to this waltz of grief and joy?

i wish i had an answer but i am just a toy


Am i wrong?...Am i?..And the church said

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