All too often I find myself
Tentatively treading the space
Between two sets of mind:
Imagination and reality.
Wandering between the two sides
Wondering about the one side
I truly belong to.
Am I eccentric or just downright crazy?
Am I melancholy or melodramatic?
Is my existence entirely broken
Or am I just another teenager
Jacked up on the idea that depression
Could make my life a little more interesting?
Maybe a part of me craves
Sighs that could fill up my heaving lungs like cigarette fumes,
Tears that could flow through my bloodstream like wine,
So that somewhere amongst the raging chaos
There’d be poetry, inked in pain; and
So that for once in this abysmal, echoing life
I’d have something to say.