And a Psychotic Mind

What helps me to think is the pain

It sounds cliche, but true

And the words roll and the brain teems

And my self-esteem hurts

And I’m missing my ego

Recluse into my room

Stay there until the next day

And when I get an idea

I write it down

As to remember

What I went through at one point

When really, what I go through

Is always worse at the time

Pointless poems of doubt

Little anidotes for a broken heart

And a bleeding soul

And a psychotic mind

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