Keep walking in circles; maybe you'll bang your head as
well
Kick objects around, maybe you'll feel better
And maybe you'll cry, we'll have to try that
You'll keep getting confused
From all kinds of crap that you think are on your mind
You can't stop thinking
And you know NOTHING about writing
Just stare at the page, let it all out
For like a day and a half, maybe it'll help
And when they'll see it, nothing will change
You can't even talk about it
Or perhaps no one can listen
No one gives a damm
You THINK, that if you could point out the bad thing, it'll
help??? You can't, anyway...
Just drown in your desperation, in SELF PITY
In some point you'll fall, you'll get tired of walking in
circles
STOP IT! SICK OF IT!

Around you, the world keeps moving around as usual

Look at the mirror, tell me what you see
A screaming soul, a numb human being
A pathetic excuse for a life form
You want to hurt it; you want to hurt it so bad...
And you know you 'gotta pull yourself together
But it's fucking hard to pull yourself together
When you feel so tired, of waiting for things to get better

"What's wrong?" "Everything's wrong."
"Let Time do its work."
Well, perhaps you gave Time too much time
And everything looks just a little darker
When you feel just a little sadder, and more tired
Makes you feel just a little more FRUSTRATED
And you know, nothing's 'gonna get better soon.
But now you don't care for anything, anymore, do you?
And now you are not functioning anymore, do you?

So sick of this day, so sick of this life
'Wanna end this day, 'wanna end it all
So sick of the hypocrites, and attention-seeking BASTARDS
And of the SONS OF BITCHES who make you stay in this HELL
WORLD
In one moment full of rage, you tear apart the page
You shatter the mirror, break everything around
Let the world know of your fury, so your body could be
found

Your biggest depression, hopelessness, desperation
They make the highway below your feet look so tempting,
As well as the knife that's on your bed.
But if you'll commit suicide now, you'll leave too much
beyond
And there are some who need you, just to stick around
Your biggest breakdown, helplessness, frustration
You're gone.

You're so fucking tired of Everything.
Perhaps you should just go to sleep, and maybe when you'll
wake up, the world will be a better place.

This poem is only half-real, so please don't give me any
psychologists' names together with the comments.