Carrying this broken feeling
I am an open festering sore
Weeping but never healing
I am sick of bouncing of the walls
And then bouncing of the ceiling
I am sick of feeling mild and meek
I am so sick of myself
That I could sleep for a week
I am sick of the insomnia
That can keep me up for days
I am sick of the not functioning
Of walking around in a daze
I am sick of seeing my life
Through a blurry foggy haze
I am sick of being hyper
I am sick of feeling down
I am sick of being sad
And I am sick of playing the clown
But most of all
I am sick of myself
And my ever decreasing
Mental health
The Unlikely Poet
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