Original Poetry Fan Fiction ❯ I USED to be an angry Poet... ❯ Stress ( Chapter 17 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

Summary: Made in 1997 when I was on tilt mentally. The flow is choppy because I was out of it. Well, you'll see.

Rating: T
Genre: Urm...drama, angst? You decide when you read

Miscellaneous: Original Poetry Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Romance / Psychological / Hentai / Drama | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 07.22.2008 | Pages: 2 | Words: 1.4K | Visits: 145 | Status: Completed

Stress

by iloveanimecartoons

So, what do you so when you have nothing left?

When you can't seem to get the strain outta your chest?

When the world crumbles down around you and your peeps can't help you deal

with the stress that comes from people who can't seem to stay “real”?

And every day is a struggle and it's a struggle to get out of bed

Then you start to let morbid things creep in your head

like “I wish I was never born—I wish…I wish I was dead”

Then you start to ponder life and death and all those deep-type things, I guess

Like a constant deep-thought phase that plays for days when feeling, well, depressed

I take a sip of water for my throat is dry from sighing

I take a gulp of liquor `cause I'm tired of wondering why, and

my goals have been trampled, tangled, tested,

squeezed, teased and, in all the time I've invested

I try to keep on keepin' on but, for real, I've tried my best

I've had problems high and mighty and when feeling this depressed

and my heart, mind and soul are in a contest

Well…

My heart says, “If you want it—do it!”

My soul says, “Man, I knew it!”

My mind is mad at me because I'm “not trying”

to use more of the noodle that I've been given

Then, aw, damn—there goes Writer's Block

Please, someone, hide the guns—don't let me see the glock

I might get extraordinarily, well, rarely will I get that far stressed

When feeling this depressed, I might put a slug in my mug

Absent thought in my head: `I'm dead, if I aim at my chest'

My imagination is going full throttle

Please, put away that Colt 45 bottle

or glass of wine or bottle of soda pop

I might crack it, take the glass from the front to the back

of my neck…then, the depression stops

My everything stops—my pulse weakens

Lost the ability to breathe easily or simply sigh

My goodness, what have I done? I'm dying!

That's what happen's when my will's defeated?

I think I feel just a little bit cheated

My life goes slow before my eyes close at first, then goes on a fast track

I see blues

I see shadows

I see BLACK

Now, I see white and, as I try to go into the light

I find I was nocturnal, awakened by the morning light

And feel my girlfriend shaking me, saying, “Are you all right?”

I jump up, look in the mirror and think to myself, `Bitch, don't go there!'

I guess I'm a mess when depressed; I take a hail of a Newport

And think, `You're too talented to let life get you down'

`Be true to yourself and clown'

`Cause, baby, life is too damn short'