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Growing up was different,
when I always had a friend.
Constantly there to talk to me,
there until the end.
The friend would voice opinions,
tell me what to do.
People would always ask me,
"Who're you talking to?"
They gave us funny looks,
doubt our sanity.
Avoid us on the sidewalk,
tenacious vanity.
The walls are slowing closing,
sufocating; no air.
The friend is now a burden,
too malicious to care.
The hands appear all sides,
restraining; no relent.
Pulling into darkness,
future set; cement.
Sounds of eerie silence,
echo round' the walls.
Though the voice just keeps on talking,
never ending calls.
Kept behind dark bars,
hidden from the world.
Never to be accepted,
vile opinions always hurled.
Rocking back and fowards,
concealed inside the room.
Forever trapped; condemned to loss,
blurred impending doom...
- by poolee-of-marines |
- Poetry And Lyrics
- | Submitted on 01/04/2009 |
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- Title: Living on the edge.
- Artist: poolee-of-marines
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Description:
This is a poem I did about a person living with a mental illness. Having known some people with mental illnesses I've seen firsthand the effects it has on them when they are rejected or looked differently upon by other members of society.
I actually did this for an assignment in English, and it's written from the person with the illness's view. It's simple in form, but I was aiming more for meaning, which I hope I've conveyed.
- Date: 01/04/2009
- Tags: living edge mentalillness
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