Tiny Blue

Each day I fight;

I fight the voices scolding me in my head,

telling me there'll be no difference when I'm dead.

Sweet relief, I try to find it in the form of tiny and blue;

it almost tastes sweet, but then it's bitter, too.

Although it ensures my blood will remain,

the side affects almost out-weigh the gain.

I fight the urges to do something I'll regret,

to find all these things I don't normally get.

I feel impulse running through my veins,

it becomes so dominant, I almost feel pain.

Tiny Blue, maybe you can save me!

If you can't, nothing will ever set me free...

But why do you hurt me?

Are these emotions real?

Am I truly becoming free?

Will I ever be able to feel?

But maybe my reality is fake,

maybe I'll see what's true.

Maybe past all this ache

I'm bidding lies adieu.

If I just bare the pain a little longer,

I know that I'll grow stronger and stronger.

Tiny Blue, we're going to win this fight.

You and me, we're going to be alright.

Author's Note

Any feedback would be lovely (:

Reviews

[TadKent]

This is extremely sad, but I love it because it's honest. It's kind of a tragic dialogue between you and your vice, and it's pretty intense, and strong to read in the best ways possible! Good work,love.

[Kitten]

I enjoy the rhymes and the way it flows. It's very interesting. The content I can relate to as well. Thank you for writing.