They tell me I’m not really sick;
My wrists are free of cuts.
That I don’t eat pills for breakfast,
My wounds aren’t deep enough.

They say that if I truly hurt,
Then I would know as well,
That depression is a giant void
Where pain and sadness dwell.

But secretly unbeknownst to them,
I’ve got my demons too.
That such darkness lingers in my heart
And light rarely passes through.

And in this gloom and in this cold
My mind is often caught.
So far away from heaven,
From the freedom that I sought.

Instead I’m entangled in the blackened web
Where my demons coldly sneer.
They stare at me with stoic eyes
And my screams fall on deaf ears.

Yet oddly in my broken heart,
A wish lays in soothing peace,
From a girl dreaming to break these chains
And have the darkness cease.

So I’ll slowly gather all the bits
Of courage, faith, and might.
I’ll weave a banner of SOS
And force my shaky hands to write.

I’ll paint that letter to the stars
And pray they grant my plea,
So one day if my demons disappear,
I’ll proudly yell, “I’m free!”