Nothing, nothing nothing
Dark and empty is my self
And when something, something
Good seems to happen with my health
It's a half assed lie
A spur of the moment
A burst of optimism based on my
False thoughts waiting for comments.
When the highs are mountains waiting to be conquered
And the lows are deep seas, unexplored
The urge to be consumed by the dark liquid is overwhelming
And the mountains are a fairy tales made by birds
When everyone says it's in my head
When the smell, and taste, and feel
Of every earthly thing is so dreadfully
Overpowering that it takes my insides and peels
My outsides. I feel numb.
Well, that's pretty dark! Are you sure you weren't reading Sylvia Plath? This has a an odd, jerky flow which somehow works wee in the tone, and that's good, but you've got a couple of clichés you'd be better off without (high mountain, deep sea). 4-
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