Chills are running down my spine,
as the small brain-twisting moments,
of mental illness manipulates my mind.
I step over the boundaries,
over the edge.
Throwing myself into nothingness
Flying, crying and seeing.
It’s carving me inside
The comatose condition
bemoans my weakly ego
Which I once more fail and decline.
They see me
but yet, they don’t.
Noone does, as I wrecked myself,
disappeared from reality.
I inspect the blood, dripping from my wrist.