Image for the poem Pokerface


Woke up, fingers bruised from many snoozes.
Again, barely slept 3 hours. Should i do this?

Luck is for the high rich. Spin my numeral.
Blessed by the street lights? Nope, my funeral.

The will still stronger than the illness.
The mind still weaker than the heart is.

Please, i need release from this monster i built.
The anger, the weakness, the heartbreak and guilt.

The thing that kills me i long for the most.
My work is my slipknot, my life holds the choke.

Cherish what is given, let go of what is granted.
This sickness is cruel, should’ve fought like i meant it.

People shouldn’t have to ask if i’m okay.
They know something’s off so what am i to say?
“Hey don’t worry, i’m doing just fine.”
“Hey please help me, my life’s on the line.”

“You look kinda down. You sure you’re alright?”
With all best intensions, already lost the fight.

“No, i’m good. I’ll fight like the brave.”
Tears run on the inside. One foot in the grave.

Should i continue this life and suffer? Or give up and pass on the pains?
“No really, i’m fine.”
“Not really, I lied”
The metal connects with my veins.
Written by Drieks
Author's Note
When you suspect mental illness go above and beyond to help a fellow human. Direct approach is rarely the best choice. Get in contact with their friends and family instead.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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