I do not fear what I will become,
Though I am scared of walking blind.
Conflicted emotions wrestle daily,
Beating hard on my bruised mind.
It’s way to easy to judge,
Those who surrender own life.
But not so easy to understand why,
So many reach for the knife.
Then they cut their arm,
Category self harm,
No one’s raised the alarm,
It’s too late, they have calm!
But, where were you?
Discussing the needs,
Whilst the poor soul bleeds,
Yet another statistic is true.
It’s a moment that I dread,
When another one is dead,
Punished by the voices in their head,
But everyone speaks of something else instead.